c 


>^(__ 


THE   LIFE   OF   TOLSTOY 


THE 


LIFE  OF  TOLSTOY 


FIRST    FIFTY    YEARS 


BY 

AYLMER    MAUDE 


'  A  man  so  various  that  he  seemed  to  be 
Not  one,  but  all  mankind's  epitome.' 

Drydks 


FIFTH    EDITION 


NEW    YORK 
DODD,    MEAD    AND    COMPANY 

1911 


First  Edition 
Second  Edition 
Third  Edition 
Fourth  Edition 
Fift}),  Edition    . 


September  1908 
October  1908 
September  1910 
January  1911 
April        1911 


UKL 


33X5' 

I'll 


PREFACE 

The  reason  I  have  written  this  work  is  because  so  many 
among  us  are  interested  in  Tolstoy  and  so  few  seem  to  under- 
stand him.  It  would  seem  therefore  that  an  English  Life 
of  Tolstov  is  needed,  and  having  lived  in  Russia  for  twenty- 
three  years,  known  Tolstoy  well  for  several  years,  visited 
him  frequently  in  Moscow,  and  stayed  with  him  repeatedly 
at  Yasnaya  Polyana,  I  am  perhaps  as  well  qualified  as  any 
one  to  write  it,  especially  as  I  have  long  made  a  careful 
study  of  his  views.  My  wife  and  I  have  translated  several 
of  his  works,  have  known  people  closely  connected  with  him, 
and  some  ten  years  ago  we  took  part  in  an  unsuccessful 
'  Tolstoy '  Colony ;  besides  which  I  went  to  Canada  at  his 
wish  to  make  arrangements  for  the  Doukhobdr  migration, 
of  which  I  subsequently  wrote  the  history. 

Moreover,  I  am  impartial.  That  is  to  say,  I  have  taken 
pains  to  understand  Tolstoy's  views,  and  to  see  the  good 
there  is  in  them  ;  but  being  a  Westerner,  I  see  also  certain 
things  Tolstoy  overlooks,  and  I  know  that  these  things 
knock  big  holes  in  some  of  his  most  cherished  *  principles.' 

The  book  has  had  the  great  advantage  of  being  care- 
fully revised  by  his  wife,  the  Countess  S.  A.  Tolstoy,  who 
both  verbally  and  in  writing  has  rendered  me  most  valuable 
assistance. 


vi  LEO  TOLSTOY 

I  owe  sincere  thanks  also  to  mv  friend  P.  I.  Birukdf, 
Tolstoy's  Russian  biographer.  He  modestly  speaks  of  his 
own  work  as  'a  collection  of  those  materials  for  the  biography 
of  Leo  Tolstov  which  are  accessible  to  me,'  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  his  care  and  integrity  in  gathering 
and  using  those  materials,  entitle  him  to  the  gratitude  of 
all  who  deal  with  the  same  subject. 

There  is  one  small  matter  of  typography  which  needs  a 
word  of  explanation.  I  have  sought  to  tell  as  much  of 
the  story  as  possible  in  Tolstoy's  own  words,  and  have 
also  had  occasion  to  quote  other  writers.  At  times  the 
Russian  text  quoted  contains  allusions  or  expressions  which 
might  perplex  an  English  reader  unless  a  word  or  two  of 
explanation  were  added.  To  introduce  paragraphs  of  ex- 
planation would  interrupt  the  narrative,  besides  lengthen- 
ing the  book.  To  have  recourse  to  frequent  footnotes  in 
cases  where  two  or  three  words  of  explanation  are  all  that 
is  required  is  unsightly  and  unsatisfactory ;  so  I  have 
adopted  the  plan  of  using  square  brackets  [  ]  to  enclose 
such  explanations.  The  ordinary  round  parentheses  (  )  I 
have  kept  for  their  common  use,  and  for  cases  where,  for 
clearness'  sake,  words  are  added  that  are  not  contained  in 
the  original. 

Beyond  indicating  the  varying  value  of  sums  of  money 
mentioned,  I  have  not  troubled  the  reader  with  the 
fluctuations  of  the  rouble,  which  went  from  over  38 
pence  before  the  Crimean  war,  to  19  pence  after  the 
Russo-Turkish  war  of  1878.  If  he  wants  a  concise  lii.story 
of  the  Russian  currency,  he  can  find  it  in  the  preface  to  my 
edition  of  Sevastopol. 


PREFACE  vii 

In  that  as  in  other  matters  I  have  tried  to  be  accurate 
without  being  pedantic.  It  is  Tolstoy  and  his  views  that 
I  aim  at  presenting  to  English  readers ;  and  I  have  kept 
in  the  background,  as  far  as  I  could,  the  obstacles  result- 
ing from  the  Tower  of  Babel. 


AYLMER  MAUDE. 


Great  Baddow, 
Chelmsford^  20th  August  1910. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 


PREFACE  .... 

NOTE  ON  PRONUNCIATION  OF  RUSSIAN  NAMES 

I.  Ancestry  and  Parentage 
II.  Youth  and  Early  Manhood 

III.  The  Caucasus  .  .  . 

IV.  The  Crimean  War 
V.  Petersburg  ;  Love  Affair  ;  Drouzh/nin 

VI.  Travels  Abroad 

VII.  At     YIsnaya      again  ;      Tourgenef  ;      Arbiter 
Magazine 

VIII.  The  School 

IX.  Marriage  .... 
X.  Nearing  the  Crisis 

XI.  Confession  .  .  . 

XII.  Works:  1852-1878 

Chronology  .  «  . 

Index  •  •  •  * 


PAGE 
V 

xiii 
1 

16 
59 
93 

138 
166 

214 
246 
282 
329 
399 
427 

450 
457 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

Portrait  of  Tolstoy  when  commencing  An7ia  Kare- 

nina,  1873.     By  Kramskoy  .  .  Frontispiece 

Facing  page 

Tolstoy  in  1848,  after  leaving  the  University      .  48 

Map  of  Sevastopol      .  .  .  .  .  113 

Prominent  Russian  Writers,  1856:  Tourg^nef, 
SoLOGouB,  Tolstoy,  NekrAsof,  Grigorovitch, 
AND  PanIef  .  .  .  .  .142 

Tolstoy  in  1856,  the  year  he  left  the  Army        .  152 

Tolstoy    in   I860,  the  year  his   brother   Nicholas 

DIED  ......  200 

Tolstoy  in  1  862,  the  year  of  his  Marriage  .  290 

Tolstoy's   Library,  showing  the  wooden  crosspiece 

from  which  he  wished  to  hang  himself  .  402 


NOTE  ON  PRONUNCIATION  OF 
RUSSIAN  NAMES 

The  spelling  of  Russian  names  in  Latin  letters  in  a  work  of 
this  kind,  presents  great  difficulties.  To  begin  with,  we 
have  as  yet  (though  it  is  much  needed)  no  accepted  method 
of  transliteration  from  Russian  into  English  ;  and  though  it 
is  not  difficult  for  any  one  to  frame  or  select  his  own 
system  of  transliteration — as  I  have  done  for  my  translations 
— this  does  not  entirely  meet  the  case  when  one  has  to  deal 
with  the  names  of  people,  many  of  whom  have  adopted  a 
spelling  of  their  own. 

On  the  one  hand,  a  man  has  a  right  to  decide  how  he 
will  have  his  own  name  spelt;  but  on  the  other  hand,  the 
inclusion  of  a  dozen  different  systems  of  transliteration  in 
one  book,  is  apt  to  create  confusion. 

I  have  had  to  do  the  best  I  could  under  the  circum- 
stances. To  pronounce  the  names  correctly,  in  accord 
with  the  system  of  transliteration  I  have  adopted,  the  reader 
should  note  the  following : 

I.  Lay  stress  on  the  syllable  marked  with  an  accent. 

II.  Vowel  sounds  are  broad  and  open : 

a  as  in  father, 
g  as  a  in  fate. 
But  e  initial  and  unaccented  is  pronounced  i/e. 
i  as  ee  in  m^^t. 
o  as  in  loch. 
u  as  1/ou, 


xiv  LEO  TOLSTOY 

In  diphthongs  the  broad  sounds  are  retained: 
ou  as  00  in  boot. 
ya  as  in  yard, 
ye  as  in  ye&. 
yo  as  in  ?/ore. 
ay  as  eye. 
ey  as  in  'Caey. 
oy  as  in  hoy. 

III.  y  with  a  vowel  forms  a  diphthong;  y  at  the  end 
of  a  word,  after  a  consonant,  sounds  something  like  ie 
in  hygiene. 

IV.  Consonants : 

G  is  hard,  as  in  ^o. 

Zh  is  like  z  in  ajsrure. 

R  is  sounded  strongly,  as  in  rough,  barren. 

S  is  sharp,  as  in  *eat,  pa*^. 

Where  I  know  of  a  spelling  deliberately  adopted  by  the 
owner  of  a  name,  I  have  felt  bound  to  follow  it.  For 
instance,  the  name  which  under  my  system  of  translitera- 
tion I  should  have  spelt  '  Suhotin,'  appears  in  the  book  as 
Soohoteen,  but  in  such  cases,  on  the  first  occasion  on  which 
the  name  occurs,  I  have  given  my  usual  transliteration  in 
square  brackets. 

I  hope  the  day  is  not  distant  when  some  system  will  be 
generally  agreed  upon  in  this  matter.  Any  system  would 
be  better  than  the  present  anarchy. 


CHAPTER  I 

ANCESTRY   AND    PARENTAGE 

Ancestors.  Count  Peter.  Russian  titles.  Tolstoy's  grand- 
father and  father.  His  maternal  grandfather  and  mother. 
First  recollections.     Aunty  Tatiana.     Antecedents. 

In  the  annals  of  the  Russian  nobility  it  is  recorded  that 
a  man  named  Idris  came  from  '  the  lands  of  Caesar,' 
that  is  to  say,  from  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  in 
the  year  1353  with  two  sons  and  3000  followers, 
and  settling  at  Tchernigof  in  Little  Russia  was  received 
with  favour  by  the  reigning  Grand  Duke,  who  granted 
him  much  land.  A  great-grandson  of  this  Idris,  Andrew 
by  name,  migrated  to  Moscow,  where  he  was  well  received 
by  the  reigning  Grand  Duke  Vasily,  who  conferred  upon 
him  the  surname  of  Tolstoy. 

As,  however,  the  annals  of  the  Russian  nobility  were 
to  a  large  extent  concocted  in  the  reign  of  Peter  the 
Great,  it  is  extremely  doubtful  whether  this  story  is 
reliable.      Be  that   as  it    may,  it    is  certain    that 

1  f*AK 

Peter  Tolstoy,  born  in  1645,  was  a  Russian  who 
distinguished  himself  in  the  service  of  the  State.  During 
the  struggles  which  preceded  the  acquisition  of  power 
by  Peter  the  Great,  he  made  the  mistake  of  allying 
himself  with  that  autocrat's  ambitious  half-sister,  Sophia. 
The  defeat  of  her  Guards,  the  Streltsi,  caused  him  quickly 
to  transfer  his  allegiance  to  Peter,  whose  favour  he  even- 
tually   managed    to    secure.       When    drinking    with    his 

A 


2  LEO  TOLSTOY 

chosen  companions  in  later  days,  the  Tsar  would  often 
pat  Tolstoy's  head,  saying,  '  Little  head,  little  head,  had 
you  been  less  wise,  you  would  have  come  off  your  shoulders 
long  ago." 

This  Peter  Tolstoy  held  a  commission  in  the  Guards, 
and  fought  in  the  Azof  campaign  of  1696  ;  but  later  on 
he  went  abroad  to  study  shipbuilding  when  Peter 
the  Great  was  seeking  volunteers  for  that  purpose. 
He    was    sent    in    1701    as    Ambassador   to    the   Sublime 
Porte,    and    in    the    years    1710-1713,    when    political 
affairs  were  critical,  he  twice  suffered  severe  imprisonment 
in  the  Seven  Towers — the  stronghold  wherein  the  Sultan 
occasionally  confined  the  ambassadors  of  States  with  whose 
conduct  he  felt  dissatisfied.      Keturning  to  Russia  in  1714, 
Tolstoy    obtained    the    favour  of   Prince    Menshikof  and 
became  a  Minister  of  State.      He   married  ;   but  his   wife 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  of  sufficient  importance  for 
any  one  to   have    said  anything   about  her.       He 
accompanied    Peter    the    Great    to    Holland    and 
France,    and    rendered    him    an    important    though    dis- 
creditable  service.       Peter  the  Great's  son,  the  refractory 

Alexis,    who    disliked    his     father's    reforms,    had 
1717  .  .... 

escaped    from    Russia    and    was    living    with    his 

mistress  Euphrosyne  at  St.  Elmo,  near  Naples.  By 
threats  and  promises,  and  by  the  aid  of  this  woman, 
Tolstoy  induced  the  unfortunate  Tsarevitch  to  return  to 
Russia,  and  when  he  had  got  him  there,  took  a  leading 
part  in  his  trial  and  secret  execution. 

For  this  service  Tolstoy  received  large  estates  and 
was  promoted  to  the  headship  of  the  Secret  Chancellery. 
30  Aug.  O"  the  day  of  the  coronation  of  Peter's  second 
1725  wife,  Catherine,  Tolstoy  was  made  a  Count. 
His  coat  of  arms  shows  seven  towers,  in  memory  of 
his  imprisonment  by  the  Sultan,  and  is  appropriately 
supported  by  two  wolf-hounds  rampant,  looking  out- 
wards. 


ANCESTRY  8 

On   the  death   of  Peter    the    Great,  Tolstoy    actively 
supported  Menshikof  in  securing  the  throne  for  Catherine 
the  First,  and  he  was  one  of  the  seven  members  of  the 
Upper    Secret    Council    which    practically    ruled    Russia. 
On  the  question  of  choosing  a  successor  to  Catherine,  he 
ventured  however  to  oppose  Menshikof,      The  latter  was 
too  powerful   for  him  ;  and  forfeiting  his  title  of    Count 
and  deprived  of  all   offices  rewards  and  estates,  Tolstoy, 
at  the  age  of  eighty-two,  was  banished  for  life  to    q  May 
the  Solovetz  Monastery,  situated  on  an  island  in      1727 
the  White  Sea.      Here,  two  years  later,  he  died.      Menshi- 
kof himself,  one    may  remark   in  passing,  finished  his  life 
that  same  year  in  Siberia,  having  been  banished  by    ^ 
an  order  signed  by  the  boy  he  had  placed  on  the 
throne.      To  be  a  Russian  Minister  of  State  in  those  days 
was  almost  as  dangerous  as   it  is  in  our  times  to  be  a 
revolutionary  conspirator. 

The  title  of  Count  was  revived  in  the  family  in  1770, 
for  the  benefit  of  Peter  Tolstoy's  grandson  ;  whose  son, 
Count  Elias  Tolstoy  (he  figures  in  War  and  Peace  as  the 
elder  Count  Rostdf),  was  the  grandfather  of  Leo  Tolstoy, 
whose  life  this  book  nai-rates. 

There  is  one  matter  which  it  may  be  as  well  to  explain 
at  the  outset,  as  English  readers  are  so  often  puzzled  by 
it :  I  refer  to  the  nature  of  Russian  titles  of  nobility. 
The  only  really  Russian  title  is  that  of  Knj/az,  commonly 
translated  '  Prince.'  It  is  borne  by  descendants  of  Riirik, 
by  descendants  of  the  Lithuanian  Prince  Ghedimin,  and 
by  descendants  of  various  Tartar  Khans  whose  dominions 
Russia  has  annexed.  It  has  also  been  conferred  by 
Imperial-  Decree  on  a  dozen  or  more  other  Russian 
families.  Though  Knyaz  is  translated  '  Prince,'  Veliky 
Knyaz,  curiously  enough,  is  not  translated  '  Great  Prince,' 
but  '  Grand  Duke,'  and  this  indicates  how  difficult  it  is  to 
find  suitable  equivalents  for  these  titles.  Not  till  the 
time  of  Peter  the  Great  were  the  German  titles.  Count 


4  LEO  TOLSTOY 

(Graf)  and  Baron,  introduced  into  Russia.  Both  of 
these  are  now  common  among  the  Russo-German  landlords 
of  the  Baltic  Provinces ;  and  less  so  among  real  Russians. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  there  is  no  law  of 
primogeniture  in  Russia.  Each  son  and  daughter  inherits 
the  family  title,  so  that  there  are  usually  several,  and 
sometimes  many,  people  with  equal  rights  to  use  the  same 
title.  Though  springing  from  one  stock,  they  may  be 
only  distantly  connected.  There  are  for  instance  other 
Counts  Tolstoy,  contemporaries  of  Leo  Tolstoy  and  dis- 
tant cousins  of  his.  One  of  these,  the  poet  Count  Alexis 
Tolstoy,  was  a  well-known  author  and  dramatist.  Another, 
the  reactionary  Count  Dmitry  Tolstoy,  was  successively 
Head  of  the  Holy  Synod,  Minister  of  Education,  and 
Minister  of  the  Interior. 

Tolstoy's  grandfather  already  mentioned,  Count  Elias 
Tolstoy,  was  an  easy-going  generous  trustful  and  ex- 
travagant man,  who  married  a  wealthy  Princess  Gortchakdf, 
but  ran  through  her  money  and  his  own,  and  at  last 
to  secure  a  means  of  livelihood,  procured  the  post  of 
Governor  of  Kazan.  This  he  was  able  to  do,  thanks  to 
his  family  influence.  It  is  recorded  to  his  credit  that,  con- 
trary to  the  general  custom  of  the  time,  he  accepted  no 
bribes  (except  from  the  Government  contractor,  who  was 
considered  the  natural  financial  prop  of  a  Provincial 
Governor),  though  his  wife  accepted  presents  without  his 
knowledge. 

Their  eldest  daughter  married  a  Count  Osten-Saken. 
She  became  guardian  of  Leo  Tolstoy  and  of  his  brothers 
and  sister,  after  they  had  lost  their  parents.  Another 
daughter  married  V.  I.  Ushkof.  Leo  Tolstoy  was  under 
her  charge  when  he  lived  in  Kaz^n  and  studied  at  its 
University. 

The  first  fact  known  to  us  about  his  father,  Count 
Nicholas  Tolstoy,  is  characteristic  of  the  manners  of  his 
class  and  day.     When   he   was  only  sixteen,  his  parents 


ANCESTRY  5 

arranged  a  liaison  between  him  and  a  peasant  girl,  such 
connections  being  considered  necessary  for  the  health  of 
young  men.  A  son  was  born,  and  Tolstoy  records  his 
'  strange  feeling  of  consternation  when  (in  after  years)  this 
brother  of  mine,  fallen  into  destitution  and  bearing  a 
greater  resemblance  to  my  father  than  any  of  us,  used  to 
beg  help  of  us,  and  was  thankful  for  the  ten  or  fifteen 
roubles  we  used  to  give  him.' 

Nicholas  Tolstoy  was  not  yet  seventeen  when  Napoleon  in- 
vaded Russia  ;  but  in  spite  of  his  parents'  efforts  to  dissuade 
him,  he  insisted  on  entering  the  army,  and  thanks 
to  his  mother's  family  influence,  quickly  obtained 
an  appointment  as  Adjutant  to  Prince  Andrew  Gortchakdf, 
a  General  in  command.      He  went  through  the  campaigns 
of  1813    and    1814;    and  in  the  latter  year  he 
and  his    orderly,    while    on    their    way    to    rejoin 
the  Russian  army  in  Germany,  after  taking  despatches   to 
Petersburg,  were  captured   by    the  French.      The    orderly 
managed  to  hide  his  master's  gold  coins  in  his  boots,  and 
for  months  never  risked  taking  them  off,  though   his  feet 
grew  sore  and  he  suffered  extreme  discomfort.      Thanks  to 
this  devotion,  Nicholas  Tolstoy,  after  reaching  Paris,  was 
able  to  live  in  comfort. 

Having  attained  the  rank  of  Lieutenant-Colonel,  he 
left  the  army  when  the  war  was  over,  and,  disillusioned 
with  military  service,  returned  to  Kazan,  where  his  father 
(completely  ruined  by  that  time)  was  still  Governor. 

In  1820  Count  Elias  died,  leaving  his  estate  so  en- 
cumbered that  his  son  declined   to  accept  the  inheritance. 

The  vouna;  man  had  to  face  the  task  of  providing    ,  „ 

' .  r  &     1820 

for   his    old   mother,  who  was  accustomed  to  great 

luxury,    as    well    as   for   his    sister   and  a  distant   cousin, 

Tatiana  Alexandrovna    Ergolsky,  who  had  been    adopted 

into  the  family  ;  and  so  a  marriage  was  arranged  for  him 

with    the  wealthy  but    plain   Princess    Marie    V^olkdnsky, 

who  was  no  longer  very  young. 


6  LEO  TOLSTOY 

His  father's  life,  Tolstoy  tells  us,  was  then 

passed  in  attending  to  the  estate,  a  business  in  which  he  was 
not  very  expert,  but  in  which  he  exercised  a  virtue  great  for 
those  days  :  he  was  not  cruel,  but  perhaps  even  lacked  firmness. 
During  his  lifetime  I  never  heard  of  corporal  punishment.  If  it 
ever  was  administered  to  the  serfs,  the  cases  were  so  rare  and  my 
father  took  so  little  part  in  them,  that  we  children  never  heard 
them  mentioned.  It  was  after  his  death  that  I  learnt,  for  the 
first  time,  that  such  punishment  ever  took  place  at  home. 

Like  most  men  who  served  in  the  army  in  the  early  years  of 
Alexander's  reign,  he  [Count  Nicholas  Tolstoy]  was  not  what 
is  now  called  a  Liberal,  but  out  of  self-respect  he  considered 
it  impossible  to  serve  during  the  latter  [reactionary]  part  of 
Alexander's  reign,  or  under  Nicholas.  During  all  my  child- 
hood and  youth,  our  family  had  no  intimate  relations  with  any 
Government  official.  I,  of  course,  understood  nothing  about 
this  in  childhood,  but  I  understood  that  my  father  never 
humbled  himself  before  any  one,  nor  altered  his  brisk,  merry, 
and  often  chaffing  tone.  This  feeling  of  self-respect,  which 
I  witnessed  in  him,  increased  my  love  and  admiration  for  him. 

Leo  Tolstoy's  mother's  family,  the  Volkonskys,  were  de- 
scended from  Rurik  (the  first  ruler  mentioned  in  Russian 
history)  as  well  as  from  St.  Michael  the  martyr,  Prince  of 
Tchernfgof;  and  through  them,  even  more  than  on  his 
father's  side,  Tolstoy  is  connected  with  many  of  the  leading 
families  of  the  Russian  aristocracy.  Prince  Nicholas  Vol- 
konsky,  his  mother's  father,  came  into  conflict  with  the 
most  powerful  of  the  favourites  of  Catherine  the  Great, 
for  Tolstoy  tells  us  that : 

Having  attained  the  high  position  of  Commander-in-Chief, 
he  lost  it  suddenly  by  refusing  to  marry  Potemkin's  niece  and 
mistress,  Varvara  Engelhardt,  To  Potemkin's  suggestion  that 
he  should  do  so,  he  replied  :  *  What  makes  him  think  I  will 
marry  his  strumpet .'' ' 

He  married  instead,  a  Princess  Catherine  Troubctskdy, 
and  after  retiring  from  the  service,  settled  down  on  his 


ANCESTRY  7 

estate  at  Yasnaya  Polyana.  His  wife  soon  died,  leaving 
him  only  one  surviving  child,  a  daughter,  Tolstoy's  mother. 
Tolstoy  writes  of  this  grandfather  : 

He  was  regarded  as  a  very  exacting  master,  but  I  never  heard 
any  instance  of  his  being  cruel  or  inflicting  the  severe  punish- 
ments usual  in  those  days.  I  believe  such  cases  did  occur 
on  his  estate,  but  the  enthusiastic  respect  for  his  importance 
and  cleverness  was  so  great  among  the  servants  and  peasants 
whom  I  have  often  questioned  about  him,  that  though  I  have 
heard  my  father  condemned,  I  have  heard  only  praise  of  my 
grandfather's  intelligence,  business  capacity,  and  interest  in  the 
welfare  both  of  the  peasants  and  of  his  enormous  household. 

Later,  a  strange  chance  brought  Prince  Volkdnsky  again 
into  touch  with  Varvara  Engelhardt,  whom  he  had  refused 
to  marry.  She  married  a  Prince  Sergius  Golitsin,  who 
consequently  received  promotions  and  decorations  and 
rewards  ;  and  Tolstoy  tells  us  : 

With  this  Sergius  Golitsin  and  his  family,  my  grandfather 
formed  so  close  a  friendship  that  my  mother  from  her  childhood 
was  betrothed  to  one  of  his  ten  sons.  .  .  .  This  alliance,  how- 
erer,  was  not  destined  to  be  consummated,  for  the  young  man 
died  prematurely  of  fever. 

In  a  portrait  of  Prince  N.  Volkdnsky  which  has  been  pre- 
served in  the  family  there  is  much  that  corresponds  to 
Leo  Tolstoy's  own  appearance.  '  Both,'  as  his  brother-in- 
law  remarks,  '  have  high,  open  foreheads  and  large  organs 
of  the  creative  faculty,  and  in  both  the  organs  of  musical 
talent  are  exceedingly  prominent  and  are  covered  by  thick, 
overhanging  eyebrows,  from  beneath  which  small,  deep-set, 
grey  eyes  literally  pierce  the  soul  of  the  man  on  whom  they 
are  turned.' 

Prince  N.  Volkdnsky  died  in  1820,  and  two  years  later 
his  daughter  married  Count  Nicholas  Tolstoy.     Of    ^g^^ 
her  Tolstoy  tells  us  : 

I  do  not  remember  my  mother.     I  was  a  year-and-a-half  old 


d  LEO  TOLSTOY 

when  she  died.  By  some  strange  chance  no  portrait  of  her 
has  been  preserved,  so  that  as  a  real  physical  being  I  cannot 
picture  her  to  myself.  I  am  in  a  way  glad  of  this,  for  in  my 
conception  of  her  there  is  only  her  spiritual  figure,  and  all  that 
I  knoAV  about  her  is  beautiful ;  and  I  think  this  has  come  about 
not  merely  because  all  who  spoke  to  me  of  my  mother  tried  to 
say  only  what  was  good,  but  because  there  actually  was  much 
good  in  her. 

She  was  well  educated,  spoke  five  languages,  played  the 
piano  well,  and  had  a  wonderful  gift  for  improvising  tales 
in  the  most  delightful  manner.  It  is  said  that  at  balls  her 
young  lady  friends  would  leave  the  dance  and  gather  in  a 
dark  room  to  hear  her  tell  a  story,  which  shyness  induced 
her  to  do  where  she  could  not  be  seen.  Tolstoy  remarks 
that  '  her  most  valuable  quality  was  that  though  hot- 
tempered,  she  was  yet  self-restrained.  "  She  would  get 
quite  red  in  the  face  and  even  cry,"  her  maid  told  me, 
"  but  would  never  say  a  rude  word." '  She  had  one  quality 
Tolstoy  values  very  highly — that  of  never  condemning  any 
one.  It  was  a  quality  shared  by  her  eldest  son,  Nicholas  ; 
and  Leo  Tolstoy  says  : 

In  the  Lives  of  the  Sahils  by  D.  Rostovsky,  there  is  a  short 
story  which  has  always  touched  me  exceedingly,  of  a  certain 
monk,  who  to  the  knowledge  of  all  his  brethren  had  many 
faults,  but  whom  an  old  monk,  in  a  dream,  saw  occupying  a 
place  of  honour  among  the  saints.  The  old  man  asked  in 
astonishment,  '  How  could  this  monk,  so  unrestrained  in  many 
ways,  deserve  so  great  a  reward.'''  The  answer  was;  'He 
never  condemned  any  one.' 

Tolstoy  adds  :  '  If  such  rewards  did  exist,  I  think  my 
brother  and  my  mother  would  have  received  them."' 

Another  feature  Tolstoy  records  of  his  mother  is  '  her 
truthfulness  and  the  simple  tone  of  her  correspondence.' 
He  tells  us  that  in  his  imagination  his  mother 

appeared  to  me  a  creature    so   elevated,  pure   and   spiritual. 


ANCESTRY  d 

that  often  in  the  middle  period  of  ray  life^  dui-ing  my  struggles 
with  overwhelming  temptations,  I  prayed  to  her  soul  begging 
her  to  aid  me ;  and  such  prayer  always  helped  me  much. 

Five  children  were  born  to  Nicholas  and  Marie  Tolstoy. 
First  came  four  sons,  of  whom  Leo  was  the  youngest. 
His  name  in  Russian  is  Lyof  Nikolayevitch  (Leo,  son-of- 
Nicholas)  Tolstoy.  Leo  Tolstoy  is  the  way  he  signs  him- 
self when  using  the  Latin  alphabet ;  and  when  pronouncing 
his  name  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  accent  falls  on 
the  second  syllable,  and  that  that  syllable  rhymes  with 
'  boy.'  The  fancy  spellings  Tolstoi  and  Tolstoi  are  due  to 
the  fact  that  some  of  the  early  translators  and  reviewers, 
not  being  able  to  read  Russian,  relied  on  French  versions, 
and  did  not  know  how  Tolstoy  spells  or  pronounces  his  own 
name.  He  was  born  on  28th  August  1828^  at 
Yasnaya  Polyana,  with  a  caul — which  both  in 
Russia  and  in  England  is  considered  a  sign  of  good- 
fortune. 

A  year  and  a  half  later  a  daughter,  Marie,  was  born ; 
and  in  giving  birth  to  her  the  mother  died,  on  7th  March 
1830. 

Pilgrims,  monks,  nuns,  and  various  half-crazy  devotees 
were  frequent  visitors  at  the  house,  and  even  took  up  their 
abode  there.  One  of  these  was  a  nun,  Marya  Gerasi- 
movna,  who  in  her  youth  had  made  pilgrimages  to  various 
holy  places  dressed  as  a  man.  After  the  birth  of  four 
boys  Tolstoy's  mother  longed  for  a  daughter,  and  pro- 
mised Marya  Gerasimovna  that  she  should  be  godmother  if 
by  prayer  she  enabled  her  to  obtain  her  desire.  The  next 
child  really  was  a  daughter.  The  promise  was  kept,  and 
thereafter  Marya  Gerasimovna,  though  she  lived  partly  in 
the  Toula  convent,  was  free  of  the  Tolstoys'  house  and 
spent  much  of  her  time  there. 

^  The  dates  mentioned  in  the  text  are   usually  old  style  (twelve  days 
behind  our  calendar),  unless  the  contrary  is  expressly  stated. 


10  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Tolstoy  gives  us  his  earliest  reminiscences  in  an  auto- 
biographical fragment  published  in  1878  : 

These  are  my  first  recollections.  I  cannot  arrange  them  in 
order,  for  I  do  not  know  which  come  first  or  last.  Of  some  of 
them  I  do  not  even  know  whether  they  happened  in  a  dream 
or  when  I  was  awake.  I  lie  bound  ^  and  wish  to  stretch  out 
my  arms,  but  cannot.  I  scream  and  cry,  and  my  screams  are 
disagreeable  to  myself,  but  I  cannot  stop.  Some  one — I  do  not 
remember  who — bends  over  me.  This  all  happens  in  semi- 
darkness.  I  only  know  there  were  two  people  there.  My 
cries  affect  them  :  they  are  agitated  by  my  screams,  but  do  not 
untie  me  as  I  want  them  to,  and  I  scream  still  louder.  To 
them  it  seems  necessary  that  I  should  be  bound,  but  I  know  it 
is  unnecessary  and  I  wish  to  prove  this  to  them,  and  I  again 
burst  into  cries  which  are  unpleasant  to  myself  but  are  yet  un- 
restrainable.  I  feel  the  injustice  and  cruelty — not  of  people, 
for  they  pity  me,  but — of  fate,  and  I  pity  myself  I  do  not 
know  and  shall  never  know,  what  it  was  all  about :  whether  I 
was  swaddled  while  still  a  baby  at  the  breast,  and  struggled  to 
free  my  hands ;  whether  they  swaddled  me  when  I  was  more 
than  a  year  old,  to  prevent  my  scratching  some  sore,  or  whether 
I  have  gathered  into  this  one  recollection  (as  one  does  in  a 
dream)  many  different  impressions.  The  one  sure  thing  is, 
that  this  was  the  first  and  strongest  impression  of  my  life. 
And  what  remains  on  my  memory  is  not  my  cries  nor  my 
suffering,  but  the  complexity  and  contradictoriness  of  the  im- 
pressions. I  desire  freedom,  it  would  harm  no  one,  but  I  who 
need  strength  am  weak,  while  they  are  strong. 

The  next  impression  is  a  pleasant  one.  I  am  sitting  in  a  tub, 
and  am  surrounded  by  a  new  and  not  unpleasant  smell  of  some- 
thing with  which  they  are  rubbing  my  tiny  body.  Probably  it 
was  bran,  put  into  the  water  of  my  bath ;  the  novelty  of  the 
sensation  caused  by  the  bran  aroused  me,  and  for  the  first  time 
I  became  aware  of,  and  liked,  my  own  little  body  with  the 
visible  ribs  on  my  breast,  and  the  smooth,  dark,  wooden  tub, 
the  bared  arms   of  my  nurse,  the  warm,  steaming,  swirling 

^  Russian  babies  are  usually  swaddled  tightly  with  bands,  making  them 
look  like  fresh  mummies. 


ANCESTRY  11 

water,  the  noise  it  made,  and  especially  the  smooth  feel  of  the 
wet  rim  of  the  tub  as  I  passed  my  hands  along  it. 

My  next  recollections  belong  to  the  time  when  I  was  five  or 
six,  and  there  are  very  few  of  them,  and  not  one  that  relates  to 
life  outside  the  walls  of  the  house.  Nature,  up  to  the  age  of 
five,  did  not  exist  for  me.  All  that  I  remember,  happened  in 
bed  or  in  our  rooms.  Neither  grass,  nor  leaves,  nor  sky,  nor 
sun  existed  for  me.  It  cannot  be  that  no  one  ever  gave  me 
flowers  and  leaves  to  play  with,  that  I  never  saw  any  grass,  that 
they  never  shaded  me  from  the  sun  ;  but  up  to  the  time  when 
I  was  five  or  six  years  old,  I  have  no  recollection  of  what  we 
call  Nature.  Probably,  to  see  it,  one  has  to  be  separate  from 
it,  and  I  was  Nature. 

The  recollection  that  comes  next  after  the  tub  is  that  of 
Eremeyevna.  'Eremeyevna'  was  the  name  with  which  they 
used  to  frighten  us  children.  Probably  they  had  long  frightened 
us  with  it,  but  my  recollection  of  it  is  this :  I  am  in  bed  and 
feel  well  and  happy  as  usual,  and  I  should  not  remember  it,  but 
that  suddenly  the  nurse,  or  some  one  of  those  who  made  up  my 
life,  says  something  in  a  voice  new  to  me,  and  then  goes  away ; 
and  in  addition  to  being  happy  I  am  also  frightened.  And 
besides  me  there  is  some  one  else  like  me.  (Probably  my  sister 
Mary,  whose  crib  stood  in  the  same  room.)  And  I  now  re- 
member a  curtain  near  my  bed  ;  and  both  my  sister  and  I  are 
happy  and  frightened  at  the  strange  thing  happening  to  us, 
and  I  hide  in  my  pillow  :  hide,  and  glance  at  tlie  door  from 
behind  which  I  expect  something  new  and  merry.  We  laugh, 
and  hide,  and  wait.  And  then  some  one  appears  in  a  dress  and 
cap  quite  unknown  to  me,  but  I  recognise  that  it  is  the  same 
person  who  is  always  with  us  (whether  my  nurse  or  aunt  I  do 
not  remember),  and  this  some  one  says  something  about  bad 
children  and  about  Eremeyevna  in  a  gruff  voice  which  I  know. 
And  I  squeal  with  fear  and  pleasure,  and  really  am  frightened, 
and  yet  am  glad  to  be  frightened,  and  wish  her  who  is  fright- 
ening me  not  to  know  that  I  have  recognised  her.  We  become 
quiet,  but  presently  begin  whispering  to  one  another  again,  on 
purpose  that  Eremeyevna  may  come  back. 

I  have  another  recollection  similar  to  this  of  Eremeyevna 
(but  as  it  is  clearer  it  probably  belongs  to  a  later  date")  which 


12  LEO  TOLSTOY 

has  always  remained  inexplicable  to  me.  In  this  recollection 
the  chief  part  is  played  by  our  German  tutor,  Theodore  Ivanitch, 
but  I  am  sure  I  was  not  yet  in  his  charge ;  so  the  event  must 
have  taken  place  before  I  was  five.  It  is  my  first  recollection 
of  Theodore  Ivanitch,  and  it  took  place  at  so  early  an  age  that 
I  can  remember  no  one  else :  neither  my  brothers  nor  my 
father  nor  any  one.  If  I  have  some  notion  of  some  one 
individual  person,  it  is  only  of  my  sister,  and  this  only  because 
she,  like  me,  was  afraid  of  Eremeyevna.  With  this  recollection 
is  joined  my  first  conception  of  the  fact  that  our  house  had 
a  top  story.  How  I  climbed  there — whether  I  went  by  myself 
or  whether  any  one  carried  me — I  have  quite  forgotten,  but 
I  remember  that  many  of  us  are  there,  and  we  all  form  a  circle 
holding  each  other's  hands ;  among  us  are  some  women  I  did 
not  know  (for  some  reason  I  remember  that  they  were  washer- 
women), and  we  all  begin  to  go  round  and  to  jump ;  and 
Theodore  Ivanitch  jumps,  lifting  his  legs  too  high  and  too 
loudly  and  noisily,  and  I  at  one  and  the  same  instant  feel 
that  this  is  bad  and  depraved,  and  notice  him  and  (I  believe) 
begin  to  cry — and  all  is  over. 

That  is  all  I  remember  up  to  the  age  of  five.  Neither  my 
nurses,  aunts,  brothers,  sister,  nor  my  father,  nor  the  rooms, 
nor  my  toys,  do  I  remember.  My  more  distinct  recollections 
be""in  from  the  time  I  was  moved  downstairs  to  Theodore 
Ivanitch  and  the  elder  boys. 

When  I  was  moved  downstairs  to  Theodore  Ivanitch  and  the 
boys,  I  experienced  for  the  first  time  and  therefore  more 
strongly  than  ever  since,  the  feeling  which  is  called  the  sense 
of  duty,  the  consciousness  of  the  cross  every  man  is  called  upon 
to  bear.  It  was  hard  to  leave  what  I  was  accustomed  to  from 
the  beginning  of  things,  and  I  was  sad,  poetically  sad,  not 
so  much  at  parting  from  people :  sister,  nurse,  and  aunt,  as  at 
parting  with  my  crib,  the  curtain  and  the  pillow  ;  and  I  feared 
the  new  life  into  which  I  was  entering.  I  tried  to  see  the  jolly 
side  of  this  new  life  awaiting  me  ;  I  tried  to  believe  the  caressing 
words  with  which  Theodore  Ivanitch  lured  me  to  him.  I  tried 
not  to  see  the  contempt  with  which  the  boys  received  me,  the 
youngest  boy.  I  tried  to  think  it  was  a  shame  for  a  big  boy  to  live 
with  girls,  and  that  there  was  nothing  good  in  the  life  upstairs 


ANCESTRY  18 

with  nurse ;  but  my  heart  was  terribly  sad,  I  knew  I  was  irrepar- 
ably losing  my  innocence  and  happiness ;  and  only  a  feeling  of 
personal  dignity  and  the  consciousness  of  doing  my  duty  upheld 
me.  (Often  in  after-life  I  have  experienced  similar  moments 
at  the  parting  of  cross-roads,  when  entering  on  a  fresh  course.) 
I  experienced  quiet  grief  at  the  irreparableness  of  my  loss; 
I  was  unable  to  believe  that  it  would  really  happen.  Though 
I  had  been  told  that  I  should  be  moved  to  the  boys'  rooms, 
I  remember  that  the  dressing-gown  with  a  cord  sewn  to  its 
back,  which  they  put  on  me,  seemed  to  cut  me  off  for  ever 
from  upstairs,  and  I  then  for  the  first  time  observed — not 
all  those  with  whom  I  had  lived  upstairs,  but — the  chief  person 
with  whom  I  lived,  and  whom  I  did  not  remember  before. 
This  was  my  Aunty  Tatiana  Alexandrovna  Ergolsky.  I  re- 
member her  short,  stout,  black-haired,  kindly,  tender,  and 
compassionate.  It  was  she  who  put  the  dressing-gown  on  me, 
and  embracing  me  and  kissing  me,  tied  it  round  my  waist; 
and  I  saw  that  she  felt  as  I  did,  that  it  was  sad,  ten-ibly  sad,  but 
had  to  be ;  and  for  the  first  time  I  felt  that  life  is  not  a  game 
but  a  serious  matter. 

'  Aunty ''  Tatiana  Alexandrovna  Ergolsky,  mentioned  in 
the  above  reminiscences,  was  a  very  distant  relative  who 
being  left  an  orphan,  had  been  brought  up  by  Tolstoy's 
paternal  grandparents.  She  was  very  attractive  and  affec- 
tionate. She  loved  and  was  loved  by  Count  Nicholas, 
Leo's  father,  but  stood  aside  that  he  might  marry  the  rich 
Princess  Marie  Volkdnsky  and  repair  the  family  fortunes. 
Six  years  after  his  wife's  death  Count  Nicholas  asked 
Tatiana  to  marry  him  and  be  a  mother  to  his  children. 
Not  wishing  (Tolstoy  tells  us)  to  spoil  her  pure,  poetic 
relations  with  the  family,  she  refused  the  first  but  fulfilled 
the  second  of  these  requests. 

The  joyousness  of  Tolstoy's  boyhood  was  largely  due  to 
the  care  and  affection  of  this  excellent  woman,  and  in  the 
most  firmly  rooted  of  his  principles — such  as  his  detesta- 
tion of  corporal  punishment  and  his  approval  of  complete 
chastity — it  is  easy  to  trace  her  unconscious  influence. 


U  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Here  for  instance  is  one  episode  : 

We  children  were  returning  home  from  a  walk  with  our 
tutor,  when  near  the  barn  we  met  the  fat  steward,  Andrew, 
followed  by  the  coachman's  assistant,  '  Squinting  Kouzma '  as 
he  was  called,  whose  face  was  sad.  He  was  a  married  man  and 
no  longer  young.  One  of  us  asked  Andrew  where  he  was 
going,  and  he  quietly  replied  that  he  was  going  to  the  barn, 
where  Kouzma  had  to  be  punished.  I  cannot  describe  the 
dreadful  feeling  which  these  words  and  the  sight  of  the  good- 
natured  crestfallen  Kouzma  produced  on  me.  In  the  evening 
I  told  this  to  my  Aunt  Tatiana,  who  hated  corporal  punishment 
and,  wherever  she  had  influence,  never  allowed  it  for  us  any 
more  than  for  the  serfs.  She  was  greatly  revolted  at  what 
I  told  her,  and  rebuking  me  said, '  Why  did  you  not  stop  him  ? ' 
Her  words  grieved  me  still  more.  ...  I  never  thought  that  we 
could  interfere  in  such  things,  and  yet  it  appeared  that  we 
could.  But  it  was  too  late,  and  the  dreadful  deed  had  been 
done. 

To  sum  up  what  we  know  of  Tolstoy''s  antecedents  : 
he  was  descended  on  his  father's  side  and  still  more  on  his 
mother's,  from  aristocratic  families  who  were  more  or  less  in 
passive  opposition  to  the  Government,  and  who  shared  the 
humanitarian  sympathies  current  in  the  early  years  of  the 
reign  of  Alexander  I.  A  cousin  of  Tolstoy's  mother  was 
one  of  the  Decembrists,  and  on  the  accession  of  Nicholas  I 
in  1825  took  part  in  their  abortive  attempt  to  establish 
Constitutional  Government.  He  was  exiled  to  Eastern 
Siberia  for  thirty  years,  doing  hard  labour  in  irons  part  of 
the  time.  His  wife  (another  Princess  Marie  Volkdnsky) 
voluntarily  accompanied  him,  as  Neknisof  has  told  in  a  well- 
known  Russian  poem.  Several  members  of  the  family 
towards  the  end  of  their  lives  retired  into  convents  or 
monasteries. 

We  find  strong  family  love  uniting  the  homes  of  Tolstoy's 
parents  and  grandparents ;  and  even  after  their  death, 
Tolstoy's   nature   ripened    in   a   congenial    atmosphere    of 


ANCESTRY  15 

family  affection ;  and  many  of  his  most  pronounced  sym- 
pathies and  antipathies  are  not  peculiar  to  himself,  but 
were  shared  equally  by  other  members  of  the  family. 


CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  I 

P.  Birukof:  Lyof  Nikolayevitch  Tolstoy.  Biografiya  :  Moscow,  1906. 
(The  Russian  edition  is  much  more  readable  and  accurate 
than  the  English.) 

Referred  to  hereafter  as  Birukof. 
S.  A.  Behrs  :  Vospominaniya  o  Grafe  L.  N.  Tolstom,  Smolensk,  1894, 
is  very  valuable  as  being  the  work  of  one  who  spent  twelve 
summers  at  Yasnaya,  and  knew  Tolstoy  intimately. 
Referred  to  hereafter  as  Behrs. 
There  is   an  English  edition  of  this  book :  Recollections  of 
Count   Leo  Tolstoy,  London,  1893,  but  it  is  incomplete,  and 
inferior  to  the  Russian  in  many  ways.     It  gives  the  author's 
name  wrongly  as  C.  A.  Behrs. 
Leo    Tolstoy,   First  Recollections,   a   fragment :   Tolstoy's  collected 

works,  Moscow,  1892, 
Supplement  to  Novy  Mir,  Graf  Lyof  Tolstoy  :  St.  Petersburg,  1903. 
Referred  to  hereafter  as  Novy  Mir. 


CHAPTER  II 

CHILDHOOD    AND    EARLY   MANHOOD 

Yasnaya  Polyana.  Aunt  Tatiaua.  The  German  Tutor. 
The  brothers :  Nicholas,  Sergius  and  Demetrius.  Doun- 
etchka.  The  house-serfs.  A  family  scene.  Pilgrims  and 
saints.  Death  of  father  and  grandmother.  Flying.  Per- 
sonal appearance.  Corporal  punishment.  Originality.  Rid- 
ing lessons.  The  Countess  Osten-Saken.  Aunt  P.  I. 
Ushkof.  Books.  Abstract  speculations.  Kazan  University. 
Imprisonment.  Diary.  Demetrius.  Books:  Dickens  and 
Rousseau.  Yasnaya  again.  Petersburg.  Consistency. 
Rudolph  the  Musician.  Women.  Gambling.  Gipsy  girls. 
Money  difficulties.     The  liberty  of  Russian  nobles. 

YiCsNAYA  PolyIna  (Bright  Glade),  where  Tolstoy  was  born, 
had  been  an  ancestral  estate  of  the  Volkdnskys  and  belonged 
to  his  mother,  the  Princess  Marie.  It  is  situated  ten 
miles  south  of  Toiila,  in  a  pleasantly  undulating  country. 
The  estate,  which  is  enclosed  by  an  old  brick  wall,  is  well 
wooded  and  has  many  avenues  of  lime-trees,  a  river  and 
four  lakes.  In  Tolstoy''s  grandfather's  time,  sentinels  kept 
guard  at  the  small,  round,  brick  towers,  which  now  stand 
neglected  at  the  entrance  of  the  main  birch  avenue  leading 
to  the  house.  Something  of  the  great  confidence  in  him- 
self and  readiness  to  despise  others,  which  despite  all  his 
efforts  to  be  humble,  characterise  Tolstoy,  may  be  due  to 
the  fact  that  he  was  born  and  grew  up  on  an  estate  where 
for  generations  his  ancestors  had  been  the  only  people  of 
importance. 

10 


YOUTH  17 

*  Aunty  "*  Tatiana  Alexandrovna  Ergolsky  had  been 
brought  up  by  his  grandmother  on  an  equality  with  her 
own  children.  She  (Tatiana)  was  resolute,  self-sacrificing, 
and,  says  Tolstoy, 

must  have  been  very  attractive  with  her  enormous  plait  of 
crisp,  black,  curly  hair,  her  jet-black  eyes,  and  vivacious, 
energetic  expression.  When  I  remember  her  she  was  more 
than  forty,  and  I  never  thought  about  her  as  pretty  or  not 
pretty.  I  simply  loved  her  eyes,  her  smile,  and  her  dusky 
broad  little  hand,  with  its  energetic  little  cross  vein. 

We  had  two  aunts  and  a  grandmother;  they  all  had  more 
right  to  us  than  Tatiana  Alexandrovna,  whom  we  called  Aunt 
only  by  habit  (for  our  kinship  was  so  distant  that  I  could  never 
remember  what  it  was),  but  she  took  the  first  place  in  our  up- 
bringing by  right  of  love  to  us  (like  Buddha  in  the  story  of  the 
wounded  swan),  and  we  felt  her  right. 

I  had  fits  of  passionately  tender  love  for  her. 

I  remember  once,  when  I  was  about  five,  how  I  squeezed  in 
behind  her  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-room  and  she  caress- 
ingly touched  me  with  her  hand.  I  caught  it  and  began  to  kiss 
it,  and  to  cry  with  tender  love  of  her.   .  .  . 

Aunty  Tatiana  had  the  greatest  influence  on  my  life.  From 
early  childhood  she  taught  me  the  spiritual  delight  of  love. 
She  taught  me  this  joy  not  by  words  ;  but  by  her  whole  being 
she  filled  me  with  love.  I  saw,  I  felt,  how  she  enjoyed 
loving,  and  I  understood  the  joy  of  love.  This  was  the  first 
thing. 

Secondly,  she  taught  me  the  delights  of  an  unhurried,  quiet 
life. 

Another,  though  a  much  less  important,  influence  was 
that  of  the  tutor,  Theodore  Rossel  (who  figures  as  Karl 
Ivanovitch  Mauer  in  Tolstoy's  early  sketch,  Childhood), 
Tolstoy  owes  his  excellent  knowledge  of  German  and  French 
to  the  fact  that  his  father,  following  a  custom  common  among 
well-to-do  Russians,  engaged  foreign  teachers  and  let  his 
children    learn  languages  not  so  much  from  books  as  by 

B 


18  LEO  TOLSTOY 

conversation,  while  they  were  still  quite  young.  Rossers 
'  honest,  straightforward,  and  loving  nature ''  helped  to  de- 
velop the  boy's  good  qualities. 

Tolstoy  got  on  well,  too,  with  his  brothers,  who  were 
five-and-a-half,  two,  and  one  year  older  than  himself,  as 
well  as  with  his  little  sister  Marie,  his  junior  by  a  year- 
and-a-half. 

He  not  only  loved,  but  deeply  respected,  his  eldest 
brother  Nicholas  (pet  name,  Nikdlenka),  whose  influence 
lasted  until,  and  even  after,  his  death  in  1860.  Of  him 
Tolstoy  says : 

He  was  a  wonderful  boy,  and  later  a  wonderful  man.  Tour- 
genef  used  to  say  of  him  very  truly,  that  he  only  lacked  certain 
faults  to  be  a  great  writer.  He  lacked  the  chief  fault  needed 
for  authorship — vanity,  and  was  not  at  all  interested  in  what 
people  thought  of  him.  The  qualities  of  a  writer  which  he 
possessed  were,  first  of  all,  a  fine  artistic  sense,  an  extremely 
developed  sense  of  proportion,  a  good-natured  gay  sense  of 
humour,  an  extraordinary  inexhaustible  imagination,  and  a 
truthful  and  highly  moral  view  of  life  ;  and  all  this  without  the 
slightest  conceit.  His  imagination  was  such  that  for  hours 
together  he  could  tell  fairy-tales  or  ghost-stories,  or  amusing 
tales  in  the  style  of  Mrs.  lladcliffe,  without  a  pause  and  with 
such  vivid  realisation  of  what  he  was  narrating  that  one  forgot 
it  was  all  invention.  .  .  .  When  he  was  not  narrating  or  read- 
ing (he  read  a  great  deal)  he  used  to  draw.  He  almost 
invariably  di-ew  devils  with  horns  and  twisted  moustaches, 
intertwined  in  the  most  varied  attitudes  and  engaged  in  the 
most  diverse  occupations.  These  drawings  were  also  full  of 
imagination. 

It  was  he  who,  when  I  was  five  and  my  brothers,  Dmitry 
six  and  Sergey  seven,  announced  to  us  that  he  possessed  a 
secret  by  means  of  which,  when  disclosed,  all  men  would 
become  happy  :  there  would  be  no  more  disease,  no  trouble,  no 
one  would  be  angry  with  anybody,  all  would  love  one  another, 
and  all  would  become  '  Ant-Brothers.'  .  .  .  We  even  organised 
a   game  of  Ant-Brothers,  which    consisted    in   sitting   under 


YOUTH  19 

chairs,  sheltering  ourselves  with  boxes,  screening  ourselves  with 
handkerchiefs,  and  cuddling  against  one  another  while  thus 
crouching  in  the  dark.  .  .  .  The  Ant-Brotherhood  was  revealed 
to  us,  but  not  the  chief  secret :  the  way  for  all  men  to  cease 
suffering  any  misfortune,  to  leave  off  quarrelling  and  being 
angry,  and  become  continuously  happy ;  this  secret  he  said  he 
had  written  on  a  green  stick,  buried  by  the  road  at  the  edge  of 
a  certain  ravine,  at  which  spot  (since  my  body  must  be  buried 
somewhere)  I  have  asked  to  be  buried  in  memory  of  Nikolenka. 
Besides  this  little  stick,  there  was  also  a  certain  Fanfaronof 
Hill,  up  which  he  said  he  could  lead  us,  if  only  we  would  fulfil 
all  the  appointed  conditions.  These  were  :  first,  to  stand  in  a 
corner  and  not  think  of  a  white  bear.  I  remember  how  I  used 
to  get  into  a  corner  and  try  (but  could  not  possibly  manage) 
not  to  think  of  a  white  bear.  The  second  condition  was  to 
walk  without  wavering  along  a  crack  between  the  boards  of 
the  floor;  and  the  third  was,  for  a  whole  year  not  to  see  a 
hare,  alive  or  dead  or  cooked  ;  and  it  was  necessary  to  swear 
not  to  reveal  these  secrets  to  any  one.  He  who  fulfilled  these, 
and  other  more  difficult  conditions  which  Nikolenka  would 
communicate  later,  would  have  one  wish,  whatever  it  might  be, 
fulfilled. 

Nikolenka,  as  I  now  conjecture,  had  probably  read  or  heard 
of  the  Freemasons — of  their  aspirations  toward  the  happiness 
of  mankind,  and  of  the  mysterious  initiatory  rites  on  entering 
their  order ;  he  had  probably  also  heard  about  the  Moravian 
Brothers  [in  Russian  ant  is  mouraveif^. 

Writing  when  he  was  over  seventy,  Tolstoy  adds : 

The  ideal  of  ant-brothers  lovingly  clinging  to  one  another, 
though  not  under  two  arm-chairs  curtained  by  handkerchiefs,  but 
of  all  mankind  under  the  wide  dome  of  heaven,  has  remained  the 
same  for  me.  As  I  then  believed  that  there  existed  a  little 
green  stick  whereon  was  written  the  message  which  could 
destroy  all  evil  in  men  and  give  them  universal  welfare,  so  I 
now  beUeve  that  such  truth  exists  and  will  be  revealed  to  men, 
and  will  give  them  all  it  promises. 

It  was,  however,  Tolstoy's  second  brother,  Sergius  (or 


20  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Sergey :  pet  name,  Ser}  dzha),  whom  Tolstoy  in  his  young 
davs  most  enthusiastically  admired  and  wished  to  imitate. 
Sergius  was  handsome,  proud,  straightforward,  and  singularly 
sincere.      Of  him  Leo  Tolstoy  says  : 

I  loved  and  wished  to  be  like  him.  I  admired  his  handsome 
appearance,  his  singing  (he  was  always  singing),  his  drawing, 
his  gaiety  and  especially  (strange  as  it  may  seem  to  say  so) 
the  spontaneity  of  his  egotism.  I  myself  was  always  aware  of 
myself  and  self-conscious  ;  I  always  guessed,  rightly  or  wrongly, 
what  other  people  thought  or  felt  about  me,  and  this  spoilt  my 
joy  in  life.  This  probably  is  why  in  others  I  specially  liked 
the  opposite  feature — spontaneity  of  egotism.  And  for  this  I 
specially  loved  Seryozha.  The  word  loved  is  not  correct.  I 
loved  Nikolenka;  but  for  Seryozha  I  was  filled  with  admira- 
tion as  for  something  quite  apart  from  and  incomprehensible 
to  me. 

Of  the  third  brother,  Demetrius  (or  Dmitry  :  pet  name, 
Mitenka),  only  a  year  older  than  himself,  Tolstoy  tells  us  : 

I  hardly  remember  him  as  a  boy.  I  only  know  by  hearsay 
that  as  a  child  he  was  very  capricious.  He  was  nearest  to  me 
in  age  and  I  played  with  him  oftenest,  but  did  not  love  him  as 
much  as  I  loved  Seryozha,  nor  as  I  loved  and  respected  Nikol- 
enka. He  and  I  lived  together  amicably.  I  do  not  recollect 
that  we  quarrelled.  Probably  we  did,  and  we  may  even  have 
fought.  ...  As  a  child  I  remember  nothing  special  about 
Mitenka  except  his  childish  merriment. 

Tolstoy  says  he  was  '  afraid  of  beggars,  and  of  one  of  the 
Volkdnskys,  who  used  to  pinch  me ;  but,  I  think,  of  no 
one  else.' 

A  girl,  Dounetchka  Temeshdf,  was  adopted  as  a  member 
of  the  family.  She  was  a  natural  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
bachelor  friend  of  Tolstoy's  father. 

I  remember  how,  when  I  had  already  learnt  French,  I  was 
made  to  teach  her  that  alphabet.     At  first  it  went  all  right  (we 


YOUTH  21 

were  both  about  five  years  old),  but  later  she  probably  became 
tired,  and  ceased  to  name  correctly  the  letters  I  pointed  out. 
I  insisted.  She  began  to  cry.  I  did  the  same,  and  when  our 
elders  came,  we  could  say  nothing  owing  to  our  hopeless  tears. 

In  his  later  recollections  of  her  he  says  : 

She  was  not  clever,  but  was  a  good,  simple  girl ;  and,  above 
all,  so  pure  that  we  boys  never  had  any  but  brotherly  relations 
with  her. 

By  which  he  means  that  there  was  no  flirtation. 

The  relations  between  the  family  and  its  servants,  who 
were  serfs  (and  of  whom  there  were  about  thirty),  were,  as 
in  many  a  Russian  family,  often  really  affectionate.  One 
instance  of  a  serfs  devotion  has  already  been  quoted  ;  and 
such  cases  were  not  rare.  In  Childhood  mention  is  made 
of  the  old  housekeeper,  Praskdvya  Isayevna,  who  was  com- 
pletely devoted  to  the  welfare  of  the  family,  and  Tolstoy 
says :  *  All  that  I  there  wrote  about  her  was  actual 
truth.' 

Here  is  another  example  illustrating  both  kindly  tolera- 
tion of  minor  offences  committed  by  a  serf,  and  the  family 
affection  which  sweetened  life  : 

My  pleasantest  recollections  of  my  father  are  of  his  sitting 
with  grandmother  on  the  sofa,  helping  her  to  play  Patience. 
My  father  was  polite  and  tender  with  every  one,  but  to  ray 
grandmother  he  was  always  particularly  tenderly  submissive. 
They  used  to  sit — Grandma  playing  Patience,  and  from  time  to 
time  taking  pinches  from  a  gold  snuff-box.  My  aunts  sit  in 
armchairs,  and  one  of  them  reads  aloud.  We  children  come  in 
to  say  good-night,  and  sometimes  sit  there.  We  always  take 
leave  of  Grandma  and  our  aunts  by  kissing  their  hands.  I 
remember  once,  in  the  middle  of  a  game  of  Patience  and  of  the 
reading,  my  father  interrupts  my  aunt,  points  to  a  looking-glass 
and  whispers  something.  We  all  look  in  the  same  direction. 
It  was  the  footman  Tikhon,  who  (knowing  that  my  father  was 
in  the  drawing-room)  was  going  into  the  study  to  take  some 
tobacco  from  a  big  leather  folding  tobacco-pouch.     My  father 


22  LEO  TOLSTOY 

sees  him  in  the  looking-glass,  and  notices  his  figure  carefully 
stepping  on  tiptoe.  My  aunts  laugh.  Grandmama  for  a  long 
time  does  not  understand,  but  when  she  does,  she  too  smiles 
cheerfully.  I  am  enchanted  by  ray  father's  kindness,  and  on 
taking  leave  of  him  kiss  his  white  muscular  hand  with  special 
tenderness. 

An  important  feature  of  the  life  in  which  Tolstoy  grew 
up  was  furnished  by  the  half-crazy  saints  who  swarmed  in 
Russia  in  those  days,  and  are  still  occasionally  to  be 
met  with.  Readers  of  ChildJiood  will  remember  Grisha,  an 
admirable  specimen  of  that  class,  about  whom  Tolstoy 
makes  the  following  characteristic  note  in  his  memoirs  : 

Grisha  is  an  invented  character.  We  had  many  of  these 
half-crazy  saints  at  our  house,  and  I  was  taught  to  regard  them 
with  profound  respect,  for  which  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  those 
who  brought  me  up.  If  there  were  some  among  them  who 
were  insincere,  or  who  experienced  periods  of  weakness  and 
insincerity,  yet  the  aim  of  their  life,  though  practically  absurd, 
was  so  lofty  that  I  am  glad  I  learned  in  childhood  uncon- 
sciously to  understand  the  height  of  their  achievement.  They 
accomplished  what  Marcus  Aurelius  speaks  of  when  he  says : 
'There  is  nothing  higher  than  to  endure  contempt  for  one's 
good  life.'  So  harmful  and  so  unavoidable  is  the  desire  for 
human  glory  which  always  contaminates  good  deeds,  that  one 
cannot  but  sympathise  with  the  effort  not  merely  to  avoid 
praise,  but  even  to  evoke  contempt.  Such  a  character  was 
Marya  Gerasimovna,  my  sister's  godmother,  and  the  semi-idiot 
Evdokimoushka,  and  some  others  in  our  house. 

How  deeply  these  early  impressions  were  engraved  on 
Tolstoy's  mind  is  obvious  from  his  earliest  as  well  as  his  latest 
writings.  Take,  for  instance,  the  lines  from  Childhood 
referring  to  Grisha's  prayer  overheard  by  the  children. 

Much  water  has  flowed  away  since  then,  many  recollections 
of  the  past  have  lost  for  me  their  meaning  and  become  blurred 
fancies  ;  even  the  pilgrim  Grisha  himself  has  long  since  finished 


YOUTH  23 

his  last  pilgrimage ;  but  the  impression  he   produced   on  me 
and  the  feeling  he  evoked^  will  never  die  out  of  my  memory. 

In  Tolstoy's  later  life  we  shall  again  and  again  find  this 
medieval  note  recurring  (with  whatever  of  truth  or  falsity 
it  contains),  and  the  assertion  that  it  is  not  the  usefulness 
or  uselessness  of  a  man's  life  that  matters,  so  much  as  his 
self-abnegation  and  the  humility  of  his  soul. 

To  complete  the  picture  of  Tolstoy's  early  boyhood  at 
Yasnaya  Polyana,  we  must  think  of  him  as  interested  in 
his  father's  dogs  and  horses  and  hunting  (in  Childhood  he 
tells  the  true  story  of  how  he  hunted  his  first  hare),  and 
also  in  the  games  and  masquerades  with  which  the  family 
and  visitors,  as  well  as  the  servants,  amused  themselves, 
especially  at  New  Year. 

In  spite  of  his  sensitive  introspective  nature,  Tolstoy's 
childhood  was  a  happy  one ;  and  to  it  he  always  looks  back 
with  pleasure.  He  speaks  of  '  that  splendid,  innocent, 
joyful,  poetic  period  of  childhood,  up  to  fourteen,'  and  he 
tells  us  that  the  impressions  of  early  childhood,  preserved 
in  one's  memory,  grow  in  some  unfathomable  depth  of  the 
soul,  like  seeds  thrown  on  good  ground,  till  after  many 
years  they  thrust  their  bright,  green  shoots  into  God's  world. 

When  Tolstoy  was  eight  years  old  the  family  moved  to 
Moscow  for  his  elder  brothers'  education.  The  following 
summer  they  lost  their  father,  who,  having  gone  to 
Toula  on  business,  fell  down  in  the  street  on  his  way 
to  visit  his  friend  Temeshdf,  and  died  of  apoplexy.  What 
money  he  had  with  him  was  stolen,  but  some  unnegotiable 
bonds  were  brought  back  to  the  Tolstoys  in  Moscow  by  an 
unknown  beggar.  The  funeral  took  place  at  Yasnaya 
Polyana ;  and  Leo,  who  did  not  attend  it,  long  fancied  that 
his  father  was  not  really  dead.  Looking  at  the  faces  of 
strangers  in  the  streets  of  ]\Ioscow,  he  felt  almost  certain  he 
might  at  any  moment  meet  him  alive  again. 

This    event    brought    the   problems    of   life    and    death 
vividly  to  the  boy's  mind,  and  nine  months  later  the  im- 


24  LEO  TOLSTOY 

pression  was  intensified  by  the  death  of  his  grandmother, 
who  never  recovered  from  the  shock  of  her  son"'s  death. 
Hers  was  the  first  death  Tolstoy  witnessed,  and  he  never 
forgot  the  horror  he  felt  when,  as  she  lay  dying  of  dropsy, 
he  was  admitted  to  kiss  her  swollen  white  hand  and  saw 
her,  dressed  in  white,  lying  motionless  on  a  high  white  bed. 
But  he  says : 

I  remember  that  new  jackets  of  black  material,  braided 
with  white,  were  made  for  all  of  us.  It  was  dreadful  to  see 
the  undertakers'  men  hanging  about  near  the  house,  and  then 
bringing  in  the  coffin,  with  its  lid  covered  with  glazed  brocade, 
and  my  grandmother's  stern  face,  with  its  Roman  nose,  and 
her  white  cap  and  the  white  kerchief  on  her  neck,  lying  high 
in  the  coffin  on  the  table ;  and  it  was  sad  to  see  the  tears  of 
our  aunts  and  of  Pashenka ;  but  yet  the  new  braided  jackets 
and  the  soothing  attitude  adopted  towards  us  by  those  around, 
gratified  us.  ...  I  remember  how  pleasant  it  was  to  me  to  over- 
hear during  the  funeral  the  conversation  of  some  gossiping 
female  guests,  who  said,  '  Complete  orphans  ;  their  father  only 
lately  dead,  and  now  the  grandmother  gone  too.' 

Some  time  after  this,  an  event  occurred  that  is  recorded 
on  the  first  page  of  Tolstoy's  Confession : 

I  remember  how,  when  I  was  about  eleven,  a  boy  Vladimir 
Milutin  (long  since  dead),  a  Grammar  School  pupil,  visited  us 
one  Sunday  and  announced  as  the  latest  novelty  a  discovery 
made  at  his  School.  The  discovery  was  that  there  is  no  God, 
and  all  that  we  are  taught  about  Him  is  a  mere  invention.  I 
remember  how  interested  my  elder  brothers  were  in  this  news. 
They  called  me  to  their  council  and  we  all,  I  remember, 
became  animated,  and  accepted  the  news  as  something  very 
interesting  and  fully  possible. 

Various  stories  have  been  preserved  relating  to  Tolstoy's 
boyhood,  and  some  of  them  are  sufficiently  characteristic 
to  be  worth  repeating. 

One  incident  which  made  a  strong  impression  on  the 


YOUTH  25 

lad,  keenly  sensitive  as  he  always  was  to  any  shade  of 
injustice,  was  the  following  : 

Soon  after  the  death  of  their  father  and  grandmother, 
the  orphan  Tolstoys,  then  living  in  rather  straitened 
circumstances  (owing  to  the  property  being  left  in  trust), 
were  invited  to  a  Christmas  Tree  at  the  house  of  an 
acquaintance,  and  the  young  Princes  Gortchakdf,  nephews 
of  the  then  Minister  of  War,  were  also  among  the  guests. 
All  the  children  received  presents ;  but  whereas  the  Gort- 
chakdfs  had  expensive  ones,  the  Tolstoys,  to  their  annoy- 
ance, received  cheap  common  ones. 

Another  occurrence  that  clung  to  his  recollection  through 
life,  was  the  friendly  welcome  they  received  one  day  when 
they  made  their  way  uninvited  into  a  private  garden  in 
Moscow  ;  and  the  sad  disappointment  they  experienced 
when,  returning  a  few  days  later  unaccompanied  by  a 
pretty  and  attractive  girl  who  had  been  with  them  on  the 
former  occasion,  they  were  coldly  informed  that  it  was 
private  ground,  not  open  to  the  public. 

Other  stories,  told  by  Tolstoy  himself  or  by  the  family, 
illustrate  his  impulsive,  imaginative,  strenuous  and  rather 
erratic  nature  at  this  period. 

When  he  was  about  seven  or  eight  years  old  he  had  an 
ardent  desire  to  fly,  and  persuaded  himself  that  it  was  pos- 
sible to  do  so.  It  was  only  necessary  to  sit  down  tight 
on  your  heels,  clasping  your  arms  firmly  round  your 
knees,  and  the  tighter  you  held  them  the  higher  you  would 
fly.  As  Tolstoy  was  always  ardent  to  put  his  beliefs  into 
practice,  it  is  not  very  surprising  that  one  day,  soon  after 
the  family  had  moved  to  Moscow,  he  stayed  behind  in  the 
class-room  when  he  should  have  come  down  to  dinner,  and 
climbing  out  on  the  window-sill,  some  six  yards  from  the 
ground,  threw  himself  out.  He  was  picked  up  unconscious. 
The  ill  results  of  his  fall  were  fortunately  confined  to  a 
slight  concussion  of  the  brain ;  and  after  sleeping  for 
eighteen  hours  on  end  he  woke  up  again  quite  well. 


26  LEO  TOLSTOY 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  take  his  story,  Childhood^  as 
strictly  autobiographical ;  but  it  contains  many  passages 
which  one  knows  from  other  sources  to  be  true  of  his  own 
life,  and  one  such  is  the  passage  in  which  (speaking  in  the 
character  of  Nikdlenka)  he  says  : 

I  knew  very  well  that  I  was  plain,  and  therefore  every  refer- 
ence to  my  appearance  was  painfully  offensive  to  me,  .  .  . 
Moments  of  despair  frequently  came  over  me  :  I  imagined  that 
there  could  be  no  happiness  on  earth  for  a  man  with  so  broad 
a  nose,  such  thick  lips,  and  such  small  grey  eyes  as  mine. 
I  asked  God  to  perform  a  miracle  and  change  me  into  a  hand- 
some boy,  and  all  I  then  had  and  all  I  could  ever  possess  in  the 
future,  I  would  have  given  for  a  handsome  face. 

In  fact,  his  personal  appearance  caused  the  sensitive  lad 
much  concern,  but  his  efforts  to  improve  it  were  unsuccess- 
ful. On  one  occasion  he  clipped  his  eyebrows,  and  the 
unsatisfactory  results  of  that  operation  occasioned  him 
great  grief. 

He  records  in  his  Reminiscences  the  following  incident, 
which  certainly  intensified  his  lifelong  antipathy  to  cor- 
poral punishment : 

I  do  not  remember  for  what,  but  for  something  quite  un- 
deserving of  punishment,  St.  Thomas  [the  resident  French 
tutor  who  succeeded  Rossel]  first  locked  me  into  a  room,  and 
secondly  threatened  to  flog  me.  I  thereupon  experienced 
a  dreadful  feeling  of  anger  indignation  and  disgust,  not  only 
towards  St.  Thomas  himself,  but  towards  the  violence  with 
which  I  was  threatened. 

When  quite  a  small  boy  he  conceived  an  attachment  for 
the  nine-year-old  daughter  of  his  father's  friend,  Islcnyef, 
and  being  jealous  of  her  for  daring  to  talk  to  others,  he 
angrily  pushed  her  off  a  balcony,  with  the  result  that  she 
limped  for  a  long  time  afterwards.  A  quarter  of  a  century 
later,  when  he  married  this  lady's  daughter,  his  mother-in- 
law  used  laughingly  to  remind  him   of  the  incident,  and 


YOUTH  27 

say,  *  Evidently  you  pushed  me  off  the  balcony  in  my  child- 
hood that  you  might  marry  my  daughter  afterwards  ! ' 

His  sister  relates  that  once  when  they  were  driving  in  a 
troika  (i.e.  three  horses  abreast)  to  Yasnaya,  Leo  got  down 
during  a  break  in  the  journey  and  went  forward  on  foot. 
When  the  carriage  started  again  and  began  to  overtake  him 
he  took  to  running,  and  when  the  horses  went  faster  he 
also  increased  his  speed,  racing  as  hard  as  he  could.  He  was 
not  overtaken  till  he  had  gone  about  two  miles  and  was 
completely  tired  out.  He  was  lifted  back  into  the  carriage 
gasping  for  breath,  perspiring  and  quite  exhausted.  Any 
one  not  endowed  with  the  remarkable  physical  vigour  that, 
in  spite  of  frequent  attacks  of  ill-health,  has  characterised 
Tolstoy  through  life,  would  probably  have  done  themselves 
serious  injury  had  they  taxed  their  vital  resources  as  reck- 
lessly as  he  often  did. 

All  accounts  agree  in  representing  him  as  an  original  and 
odd  little  fellow,  unwilling  to  do  things  like  other  people. 
He  would  for  instance  enter  a  drawing-room  and,  carefully 
placing  his  feet  together  and  bending  his  head,  would 
make  his  bow  backwards,  saluting  each  of  the  company 
in  turn. 

Two  incidents  are  recorded  relating  to  the  love  of 
riding  which  has  remained  a  characteristic  of  his  through 
life. 

When  his  brothers  were  sent  to  a  riding-school,  Leo  (in 
spite  of  his  fathers  assurances  and  those  of  the  riding-master 
that  he  was  too  small  to  begin  and  would  tumble  off) 
also  obtained  permission  to  learn  to  ride.  At  his  first 
lesson  he  duly  tumbled  off',  but  begged  to  be  replaced  in 
the  saddle ;  and  he  did  not  fall  off"  again,  but  became  an  ex- 
pert horseman.  In  one  of  the  short  stories  he  wrote  many 
years  later  for  the  use  of  school-children,  he  tells  how  he 
once  wished  to  ride  the  old  horse  Raven  after  his  brothers 
had  each  had  a  turn  on  it ;  and  how  Raven  being  too  tired 
to  move  from  the  stables,  he  beat  it  till  he  broke  his  switch 


28  LEO  TOLSTOY 

on  its  sides.     He  then  demanded  a  stouter  switch  from  the 
serf  in  charge,  but  the  man  replied  : 

*  Ah,  master,  you  have  no  pity !  Why  do  you  beat  him  ? 
He  is  twenty  years  old,  and  is  tired  out ;  he  can  hai'dly  breathe. 
Why,  for  a  horse,  he  is  as  old  as  Timofeyitch  [a  very  old  peasant 
living  at  the  place].  You  might  as  well  get  on  Timofeyitch's 
back,  and  drive  him  beyond  his  strength  like  that,  with  a 
switch.     Would  you  feel  no  pity  for  him  ?  ' 

I  thought  of  Timofeyitch,  and  hearkened  to  the  man.  I  got 
off  the  horse's  back ;  and  when  I  noticed  how  its  steaming 
sides  were  working,  and  how  heavily  it  breathed  through  its 
nostrils,  swishing  its  thin  tail,  I  understood  how  hard  it  was 
for  it.  Till  then  I  had  thought  that  it  was  as  happy  as  I  was 
myself  And  I  felt  so  sorry  for  Raven  that  I  began  to  kiss  his 
sweaty  neck  and  to  beg  his  pardon  for  having  beaten  him. 

Since  then  I  have  grown  up,  but  I  always  have  pity  on 
horses,  and  always  remember  Raven  and  Timofeyitch  when  I 
see  horses  ill-treated. 

He  does  not  appear  to  have  been  very  good  at  his  lessons, 
and  himself  somewhere  mentions  the  dictum  of  a  student 
who  used  to  coach  his  brothers  and  himself,  and  said  of  their 
aptitude  for  learning : 

'  Sergey  both  wishes  and  can,  Dmitry  wishes  but  can't '  (this 
was  not  true),  'and  Leo  neither  wishes  nor  can.'  (This,  I 
think,  was  perfectly  true.) 

On  the  other  hand,  St.  Thomas,  the  French  tutor  already 
referred  to  (he  figures  in  Childhood  as  St.  Jerome),  must  have 
noticed  the  lad's  capacity,  for  he  used  to  say, '  Ce  iwtit  a  une 
ttte :  c'est  un  petit  Molicre '  (This  little  one  has  a  head  : 
he  is  a  little  Moliere). 

After  the  father's  death  the  family  property  passed  under 

the  control  of  the  Court  of  Wards,  and  expenses  had  to  be 

cut  down.      It  was  therefore  decided  that,  though 
1  ft'iT 

the  two  elder  brothers  had  to  remain  in  Moscow  for 

the  sake  of  their  education,  the  three  younger  children  should 


YOUTH  29 

return  to  Yasnaya  Polyana,  where  living  was  cheaper,  in 
charge  of  their  much  loved  Aunty  Tatiana.  Their  legal 
guardian,  the  Countess  Alexandra  ('  Aline  ')  Ilynishna  Osten- 
Saken,  remained  in  Moscow  with  the  elder  boys. 

This  lady  had  made  what  seemed  a  brilliant  marriage  with 
the  wealthy  Count  Osten-Saken,  whose  family  was  among  the 
first  in  the  Baltic  Provinces  ;  but  her  married  life  was  a 
terrible  one.  Her  husband  went  out  of  his  mind  and  tried 
to  kill  her.  While  he  was  confined  in  an  asylum,  the 
Countess  gave  birth  to  a  still-bom  child.  To  save  her 
from  this  fresh  shock,  a  girl  born  of  a  servant,  the  wife  of 
a  Court  cook,  was  substituted  for  the  still-born  baby.  This 
girl,  Pashenka,  lived  with  the  Tolstoy  family,  and  was  already 
grown  up  when  Tolstoy  was  quite  a  child.  Subsequently 
the  Countess  Alexandra  lived  first  with  her  parents  and 
then  with  her  brother,  Tolstoy's  father.  Though  she  was 
a  devotee  of  the  Orthodox  Russo-Greek  Church  of  which 
Tolstoy  eventually  became  so  fierce  an  opponent,  much  in 
her  character  and  conduct  accords  with  the  precepts  laid 
down  in  his  later  writings  ;  and  it  is  evident  that  certain 
aspects  of  his  understanding  of  the  Christian  character, 
which  strike  most  Englishmen  as  peculiar,  far  from  being 
invented  out  of  his  own  head,  are  derived  from  a  deeply- 
rooted  Russian  and  family  tradition.      He  tells  us : 

My  aunt  was  a  truly  religious  woman.  Her  favourite  occu- 
pation was  reading  the  Lives  of  the  Saints,  conversing  with 
pilgrims,  half-crazy  devotees,  monks  and  nuns,  of  whom  some 
always  lived  in  our  house,  while  others  only  visited  my  aunt. 
.  .  .  She  was  not  merely  outwardly  religious,  keeping  the  fasts, 
praying  much,  and  associating  with  people  of  saintly  life,  but 
she  herself  lived  a  truly  Christian  life,  trying  not  only  to  avoid 
all  luxury  and  acceptance  of  service,  but  herself  serving  others 
as  much  as  possible.  She  never  had  any  money,  for  she  gave 
away  all  she  had  to  those  who  asked.  A  servant  related  to  me 
how,  during  their  life  in  Moscow,  my  aunt  used  carefully  on 
tip-toe  to  pass  her  sleeping  maid,  when  going  to  Matins,  and  used 


30  LEO  TOLSTOY 

herself  to  perform  all  the  duties  which  it  was  in  those  days 
customary  for  a  maid  to  perform.  In  food  and  dress  she  was 
as  simple  and  unexacting  as  can  possibly  be  imagined.  Un- 
pleasant as  it  is  to  me  to  mention  it,  I  remember  from  child- 
hood a  specific  acid  smell  connected  with  my  aunt,  probably 
due  to  negligence  in  her  toilet :  and  this  was  the  graceful 
poetic  Aline  with  beautiful  blue  eyes,  who  used  to  love  reading 
and  copying  French  verses,  who  played  on  the  harp,  and 
always  had  great  success  at  the  grandest  balls  !  I  remember 
how  affectionate  and  kind  she  always  was,  and  this  equally  to 
the  most  important  men  and  women  and  to  the  nuns  and 
pilgrims. 

Tolstoy  goes  on  to  tell  how  pleasantly  she  bore  the  jests 
and  teasing  that  her  devotion  to  the  priests  brought  upon 
her. 

I  remember  her  dear  good-natured  laugh,  and  her  face 
shining  with  pleasure.  The  religious  feeling  which  filled  her 
soul  was  evidently  so  important  to  her,  so  much  higher  than 
anything  else,  that  she  could  not  be  angry  or  annoyed  at  any- 
thing, and  could  not  attribute  to  worldly  matters  the  import- 
ance others  attach  to  them. 

In  the  summer  of  1839  the  whole  family  assembled  at 

Yasnaya   Polyana.      The  next  year,   1840,  was  a  famine 

year.      The  crops  were  so  poor  that  corn  had  to 

be  bought  to  feed  the  serfs,  and  to  raise  funds  for 


'J 


this  purpose  one  of  the  Tolstoys'  estates  had  to  be  sold. 
The  supply  of  oats  for  the  horses  was  stopped,  and  Tolstoy 
remembers  how  he  and  his  brothers,  pitying  their  ponies, 
secretly  gathered  oats  for  them  in  the  peasants'  fields,  quite 
unconscious  of  the  crime  they  were  committing. 

In  the  autumn  of  that  year  the  whole  family  moved  to 
Moscow,  returning  to  Ydsnaya  for  the  following  summer. 
The  next  autumn   their  guardian,  the  kind  good 
Countess  Alexandra  Osten-Saken,  died  in  the  Con- 
vent or  '  Hermitage '  founded  by  Optin  (a  robber  chief  of 


YOUTH  81 

the  fourteenth  century)  in  the  Government  of  Kalouga,  to 
which  she  had  retired. 

After  her  death  her  sister,  Pelageya  Ilynishna  Ushkof, 
became  their  g-uardian.  She  was  the  wife  of  a  Kazdn  land- 
owner.  Aunty  Tatiana  and  she  were  not  on  friendly 
terms ;  there  was  no  open  quarrel  between  them,  but  V.  I. 
Ushkof  (Pelageva''s  husband)  had  been  a  suitor  for  Tatiana"'s 
hand  in  his  youth,  and  had  been  refused.  Pelageya  could 
not  forgive  her  husband's  old  love  for  Tatiana. 

The  change  of  guardianship  led  to  the  removal  of  the 
family  to  Kazan,  and  to  the  children  being  separated  from 
Aunty  Tatiana,  much  to  her  grief. 

The  books  which  up  to  the  age  of  fourteen,  when  he 
went  to  Kazan,  had  most  influenced  Tolstoy  were,  he  tells 
us,  the  Story  of  Joseph  from  the  Bible,  the  Forty  Thieves 
and  Prince  Kamaralzaman  from  the  Arabian  Nights,  various 
Russian  folk  -  legends,  Poushkin's  Tales  and  his  poem 
Napoleon,  and  The  Black  Hen  by  Pogorelsky.  The  influence 
the  story  of  Joseph  had  on  him,  he  says,  was  '  immense."* 

In  his  aptitude  for  abstract  speculation,  as  in  other 
respects,  the  boy  was  truly  father  to  the  man ;  and  in  a 
passage,  certainly  autobiographical,  in  Boyhood,  he  says : j- 

It  will  hardly  be  believed  what  were  the  favourite  and  most 
common  subjects  of  my  reflections  in  my  boyhood — so  incom- 
patible Avere  they  with  my  age  and  situation.  But  in  my 
opinion  incompatibility  between  a  man's  position  and  his  moral 
activity  is  the  surest  sign  of  truth.  .  .  . 

At  one  time  the  thought  occurred  to  me  that  happiness  does 
not  depend  on  external  causes,  but  on  our  relation  to  them ; 
and  that  a  man  accustomed  to  bear  suffering  cannot  be  unhappy. 
To  accustom  myself  therefore  to  endurance,  I  would  hold 
Tatishef  s  dictionaries  in  my  outstretched  hand  for  five  minutes 
at  a  time,  though  it  caused  me  terrible  pain ;  or  I  would  go  to 
the  lumber  room  and  flog  myself  on  my  bare  back  with  a  cord 
so  severely  that  tears  started  to  my  eyes. 

At  another  time  suddenly  remembering  that  death  awaits 
me  every  hour  and  every  minute,  I  decided  (wondering  why 


32  LEO  TOLSTOY 

people  had  not  understood  this  before)  that  man  can  only  be 
happy  by  enjoying  the  present  and  not  thinking  of  the  future; 
and  for  three  days,  under  the  influence  of  this  thought,  I  aban- 
doned my  lessons,  and  did  nothing  but  lie  on  my  bed  and  enjoy 
myself,  reading  a  novel  and  eating  honey-gingerbreads,  on 
which  I  spent  my  last  coins.  .  .  . 

But  no  philosophic  current  swayed  me  so  much  as  scepticism, 
which  at  one  time  brought  me  to  the  verge  of  insanity.  I 
imagined  that  except  myself  no  one  and  nothing  existed  in  the 
world,  that  objects  are  not  objects  but  apparitions,  appearing 
only  when  I  pay  attention  to  them  and  disappearing  as  soon  as 
I  cease  to  think  of  them.  In  a  word,  I  coincided  with  Schelling 
in  the  conviction  that  what  exists  is  not  objects,  but  only  my 
relation  to  them.  There  were  moments  in  which  under  the 
influence  of  this  fixed  idea,  I  reached  such  a  stage  of  absurdity 
that  I  glanced  quickly  round  hoping  to  catch  Nothingness  by 
surprise,  there  where  I  was  not. 

The  philosophical  discoveries  I  made  greatly  flattered  my 
vanity  :  I  often  imagined  myself  a  great  man,  discovering  new 
truths  for  the  benefit  of  humanity,  and  I  looked  on  other  mortals 
with  a  proud  consciousness  of  my  own  dignity ;  yet,  strange  to 
say,  when  I  came  in  contact  with  these  mortals  I  grew  timid 
before  each  of  them.  The  higher  I  stood  in  my  own  opinion 
the  less  was  I  able  to  show  any  consciousness  of  my  own  dignity 
before  others,  or  even  to  avoid  being  ashamed  of  every  word  or 
movement  of  my  own — even  the  simplest. 

At  the  time  of  the  move  to  Kazdn,  a  serf  lad  of  about 
his  own  age  was  presented  to  each  of  the  young  Tolstoys 
to  attend  on  him.  Alexis,  the  one  given  to  Leo  Tolstoy, 
remained  in  his  service  all  his  life,  and  died  at  Yasnaya  a 
few  years  ago. 

For  five  and  a  half  years,  from  the  autumn  of  1841 
to  the  spring  of  1847,  the  brothers  lived  at  Kazan,  re- 
turning each  summer  to  Yasnaya  for  the  vacation. 
They  all  entered  Kazdn  University.  The  aunt 
who  was  their  guardian,  and  with  whom  they  lived  the 
greater  part  of  the  time,  was  a  kind  but  not  particularly 


YOUTH  33 

clever    woman.       Her     house    was    the    centre    of    much 
hospitahty  and  gaiety. 

Leo  Tolstoy  prepared  to  enter  the  faculty  of  Oriental 
Languages,  in  which  a  knowledge  of  Arabic  and  Turco- 
Tartar  was  required.  He  worked  hard,  and  matri- 
culated  in  May  1844  before  he  was  sixteen,  passing 
in  French  (for  which  he  received  the  mark  5  +  ;  5  being 
in  an  ordinary  way  the  highest  mark,  and  the  +  indicating 
exceptional  distinction),  German,  Arabic,  and  Turco-Tartar 
very  well,  and  in  English,  Logic,  Mathematics  and  Russian 
Literature,  well ;  but  he  did  indifferently  in  Latin,  and 
failed  completely  in  History  and  Geography,  getting  the 
lowest  mark,  a  1,  for  each  of  them.  Of  History  he  says, 
'  I  knew  nothing,'  and  of  Geography  '  still  less ' ;  adding, 
'  I  was  asked  to  name  the  French  seaports,  but  I  could 
not  name  a  single  one."*  At  the  end  of  the  summer  vaca- 
tion he  was  admitted  for  re-examination  in  the  subjects  in 
which  he  had  failed,  and  passed  successfully. 

The  winter  season  when  Tolstoy,  as  a  student  at  the 
University  and  a  young  man  of  good  position,  entered 
Kazan  society,  was  a  particularly  gay  one.  He  1844- 
attended  many  balls,  given  by  the  Governor  of  the  ^^'^•^ 
Province,  by  the  Marechal  de  la  Nohlesse,  and  by  private 
people,  as  well  as  many  masquerades,  concerts,  tableaux- 
vivants,  and  private  theatricals.  He  is  still  remembered 
by  old  inhabitants  as  having  been  '  present  at  all  the  balls, 
soirees,  and  aristocratic  parties,  a  welcome  guest  every- 
where, and  always  dancing,  but,  far  from  being  a  ladies' 
man,  he  was  distinguished  by  a  strange  awkwardness  and 
shyness.'  At  Carnival  time  in  1845  he  and  his  brother 
Sergius  took  parts  in  two  plays  given  for  some  charitable 
object.      His  performance  was  a  great  success. 

As  to  the  nature  of  Kazan  society  and  of  his  surround- 
ings there,  accounts  are  contradictory.  On  the  one  hand, 
we  have  his  own  statement  that  (imitating  his  brother 
Sergius  in  this  as  in  other  matters)  he  became  '  depraved.' 

c 


34  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Birukdf,  too,  speaks  of  '  the  detestable  surroundings  of 
Tolstoy's  life  in  Kazan,'  and  another  writer,  Zagdskin,  a 
fellow-student  of  Tolstoy's  at  the  University,  says  that  the 
surroundinfjs  in  which  the  latter  moved  were  deraoralisinff 
and  must  have  been  repellent  to  him.  On  the  other  hand, 
on  seeing  Zagdskin's  remarks,  Tolstoy  (in  whom  there  is 
often  observable  a  strong  spirit  of  contradiction)  replied  : 

I  did  not  feel  any  repulsion,  but  was  very  glad  to  enjoy 
myself  in  Kazan  society,  which  was  then  very  good.  I  am  on 
the  contrary  thankful  to  fate  that  I  passed  my  first  youth  in 
an  environment  where  a  young  man  could  be  young  without 
touching  problems  beyond  his  grasp,  and  that  I  lived  a  life 
which,  though  idle  and  luxurious^  was  yet  not  evil. 

The  explanation  of  these  contradictions,  no  doubt,  is  that 
the  family  circle  in  which  Tolstoy  lived  was  an  affectionate 
one,  and  that  he  himself  not  only  enjoyed  his  life,  but 
formed  friendships  and  made  efforts  at  which  in  later 
years  he  looked  back  with  satisfaction.  Yet  there  was 
assuredly  much  in  his  life  and  in  the  life  around  him 
which  (except  when  others  were  severe  on  it)  he  recalled 
with  grave  disapproval,  a  disapproval  he  has  plainly 
expressed  in  his  Confession. 

To  come  as  near  as  we  may  to  the  truth,  we  must  allow 
for  the  personal  equation  which,  in  Tolstoy's  case,  is  violent 
and  fluctuating. 

With  constant  amusements  going  on  around  him,  it  is 
not  surprising  that  at  the  end  of  his  first  University  year 
he  failed  in  his  examinations.  The  failure  does  not  how- 
ever appear  to  have  been  entirely  his  fault,  for  he  tells  us  : 

Ivanof,  Professor  of  Russian  History,  prevented  me  from 
passing  to  the  second  course  (though  I  had  not  missed  a  single 
lecture  and  knew  Russian  History  quite  well)  because  he  had 
quarrelled  with  my  family.  The  same  Professor  also  gave  me 
the  lowest  mark — a  'one' — for  German,  though  I  knew  the 
language  incomparably  better  than  any  student  in  our  division. 


YOUTH  85 

Instead  of  remaining  for  a  second  year  in  the  first  course 
of  Oriental  Languages,  Tolstoy  preferred  to  leave  that 
faculty,  and  in  August  1845  he  entered  the  faculty 
of  Law.  During  the  first  months  of  this  new 
course  he  hardly  studied  at  all,  throwing  himself  more 
than  ever  into  the  gay  life  of  Kazan  society.  Before  mid- 
winter however  he  began  for  the  first  time,  as  he  tells  us, 
'  to  study  seriously,  and  I  even  found  a  certain  pleasure  in 
so  doing.""  Comparative  Jurisprudence  and  Criminal  Law 
interested  him,  and  his  attention  was  especially  arrested 
by  a  discussion  on  Capital  Punishment.  Meyer,  Professor 
of  Civil  Law,  set  him  a  task  which  quite  absorbed  him  ;  it 
was  the  comparison  of  Montesquieu's  Esprit  des  Lois  with 
Catherine  the  Second's  Great  Nakaz.  The  conclusion  to 
which  he  came  was,  that  in  Catherine's  Nakaz  one  finds 
Montesquieu's  Liberal  ideas  mixed  with  the  expression  of 
Catherine's  own  despotism  and  vanity,  and  that  the  Nakaz 
brought  more  fame  to  Catherine  than  good  to  Russia. 

He  passed  his  examinations  successfully  in  May  1846, 
and  was  duly  admitted  to  the  second  year's  course  of  Juris- 
prudence. Some  time  previously  Tolstoy  and 
another  student  had  disputed  which  of  them  had 
the  better  memory,  and  to  test  this,  each  of  them  learnt 
by  heart  the  reply  to  one  examination  question  in  History. 
Tolstoy's  task  was  to  learn  the  life  of  jNIazeppa,  and  as 
luck  would  have  it  that  was  just  the  question  he  happened 
to  draw  at  his  examination,  so  that  he  naturally  obtained 
a  5,  the  highest  mark. 

From  the  autumn  of  1846  the  three  brothers,  Sergius 
Demetrius  and  Leo,  ceased  to  live  at  their  aunt's,  and 
settled  in  a  flat  of  their  own,  consisting  of  five  rooms. 

A  fellow- student,  Nazaryef,  has  given  us  his  impression 
of  Tolstoy  as  a  student.      He  says  : 

I  kept  clear  of  the  Coimt,  who  from  our  first  meeting  re- 
pelled me  by  his  assumption  of  coldness,  his  bristly  hair  and 
the  piercing  expression  of  his  half-closed  eyes.     I  had  never 


36  LEO  TOLSTOY 

met  a  young  man  with  such  a  strange  and,  to  me,  incompre- 
hensible air  of  importance  and  self-satisfaction.   .  .  . 

At  first  I  seldom  met  the  Count,  who  in  spite  of  his 
awkwardness  and  bashfulness  had  joined  the  small  group  of 
30-called  '  aristocrats.'  He  hardly  replied  to  my  greetings,  as 
if  wishing  to  intimate  that  even  here  we  were  far  from  being- 
equals,  since  he  drove  up  with  a  fast  trotter  and  I  came  on 
foot.  .  .  . 

It  so  happened  that  Nazdryef  and  Tolstoy  were  both 
late  for  a  lecture  on  History  one  day,  and  were  incarcerated 
together  by  order  of  the  Inspector. 

One  gathers  that  Tolstoy  was  in  those  days  particularly 
careful  of  his  personal  appearance,  his  clothes  indicating  his 
aristocratic  pretensions.  But  though  externally  the  Tolstoy 
of  1846  differed  greatly  from  the  Tolstoy  of  forty  years 
later,  his  conversation  ran  on  much  the  same  lines  as  in 
later  life,  and  was  uttered  with  the  intensity  of  conviction 
and  the  flashes  of  dry  humour  which  have  since  made 
even  the  most  didactic  of  his  writings  so  readable. 

Their  conversation  in  their  place  of  confinement  having 
led  to  some  mention  of  Lermontofs  poem,  Tlie  Demon, 
Tolstoy  took  occasion  to  speak  ironically  of  verse  gener- 
ally, and  then,  noticing  a  volume  his  companion  had  of 
Karamzin's  History  of  Russia,  he 

attacked  History  as  the  dullest  and  almost  the  most  useless 
of  subjects.  A  collection  of  fables  and  useless  details,  sprinkled 
with  a  mass  of  unnecessary  figures  and  proper  names.  .  .  . 
Who  wants  to  know  that  the  second  marriage  of  John  the 
Terrible,  with  Temriik's  daughter,  took  place  on  21st  August 
1562;  and  his  fourth  marriage,  with  Anna  Alexeyevna  Kol- 
torsky,  in  1572  ?  Yet  they  expect  me  to  grind  all  this,  and  if 
I  don't,  the  examiner  gives  me  a  '  one.' 

Later  on,  says  Nazdryef,  '  the,  to  me,  irresistible  force 
of  Tolstoy's  doubts  fell  upon  the  University,  and  on 
University  teaching  in  general.  The  phrase,  "  The  Temple 
of  Science,""  was  constantly  on  his  lips.      Remaining  per- 


YOUTH  87 

fectly  serious  himself,  he  portrayed  our  professors  in  such 
a  comical  light  that,  in  spite  of  all  my  eiforts  to  appear 
indifferent,  I  laughed  like  one  possessed.  ..."  Yet,"  said 
Tolstoy,  "  we  both  had  a  right  to  expect  that  we  should 
leave  this  temple  useful  men,  equipped  with  knowledge. 
But  what  shall  we  really  carry  away  from  the  University .'' 
.  .  .  What  shall  we  be  good  for,  and  to  whom  shall  we  be 
necessary  ? "" "" 

Nazaryef  says  that  in  spite  of  the  feeling  half  of  dislike, 
half  of  perplexity,  that  Tolstoy  evoked  in  him,  he  well 
remembers  that  he  was  dimly  conscious  of  something 
remarkable,  exceptional,  and  at  the  same  time  inexplicable, 
about  him. 

From  the  educational  articles  Tolstoy  wrote  sixteen 
years  later,  we  know  that  he  disapproved  of  examinations, 
of  the  restricted  groove  of  studies  marked  out  for  the 
students  in  each  faculty,  and  of  the  system  which  made 
it  necessary  for  the  professors  to  deliver  original  lectures 
of  their  own,  and  obliged  the  students  to  listen  to  those 
lectures  and  to  study  them,  however  incompetent  the 
professors  might  be. 

The  fact  that  his  brother  Sergius  had  finished  his 
studies  and  was  leaving,  strengthened  Tolstoy's  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  University ;  and  finally,  v/ithout  waiting  for 
the  May  examinations  at  which  he  might  have  qualified 
for  the  third  year''s  course,  we  find  him,  soon  after  Easter 
1847,  applying  to  have  his  name  removed  from 
the  University  roll  '  on  account  of  ill-health  and 
family  aflPairs.'  He  really  had  been  in  hospital  in  March, 
but  the  plea  of  ill-health  was  a  mere  excuse. 

His  failure  to  take  a  degree  was  a  source  of  great 
annoyance  and  disappointment  to  him,  and  it  must  not  be 
supposed  that  he  left  Kazan  with  any  idea  of  taking  life 
easily  or  neglecting  further  study. 

From  the  time  he  was  a  boy  he  had  kept  a  diary  of 
every  little  sin  he  had  committed,  and  especially  of  any 


38  LEO  TOLSTOY 

offence  against  the  Seventh  Commandment,  in  order  that 
he  might  repent,  and  if  possible  refrain  for  the  future,  and 
his  diary  shows  how  full  he  was  at  this  time  of  strenuous 
resolutions.  During  the  last  year  of  his  life  at  Kazan  he 
made  close  friends  with  a  student  named  Dyakof  (the 
Nehludof  of  Boyhood)^  and  under  his  influence  had 
developed 

an  ecstatic  worship  of  the  ideal  of  virtue,  and  the  conviction 
that  it  is  man's  destiny  continually  to  perfect  himself.  To  put 
all  mankind  right  and  to  destroy  all  human  vices  and  misfortunes, 
appeared  a  matter  that  could  well  be  accomplished.  It  seemed 
quite  easy  and  simple  to  put  oneself  rights  to  acquire  all  the 
virtues,  and  to  be  happy. 

Here  are  some  rules  he  set  himself  at  that  time : 

1.  To  fulfil  what  I  set  myself,  despite  all  obstacles. 

2.  To  fulfil  well  what  I  do  undertake. 

3.  Never  to  refer  to  a  book  for  what  I  have  forgotten,  but 
always  to  try  to  recall  it  to  mind  myself. 

4.  Always  to  make  my  mind  work  with  its  utmost  power. 

5.  Always  to  read  and  think  aloud. 

6.  Not  to  be  ashamed  of  telling  people  who  interrupt  me, 
that  they  are  hindering  me  :  letting  them  first  feel  it,  but  (if 
they  do  not  understand)  telling  them,  with  an  apology. 

Deciding  to  settle  at  Ydsnaya  for  two  years,  he  drew  up 
a  list  of  studies  he  intended  to  pursue  for  his  own  mental 
development,  and  to  qualify  for  a  University  degree ;  and 
this  list  was,  as  the  reader  will  see,  appalling  in  its 
scope. 

1.  To  study  the  whole  course  of  law  necessary  to  get  my 
degree. 

2.  To  study  practical  medicine,  and  to  some  extent  its  theory 
also. 

3.  To  study  :  French,  Russian,  German,  English,  Italian,  and 
Latin. 

4.  To  study  agriculture,  theoretically  and  practically. 


YOUTH  89 

5.  To  study  History,  Geography,  and  Statistics. 

6.  To  study  Mathematics  (the  High  School  course). 

7.  To  write  my  [Univei'sityJ  thesis. 

8.  To  reach   the  highest   perfection  I  can   in    music   and 
painting. 

9.  To  write  down  rules  (for  my  conduct). 

10,  To  acquire  some  knowledge  of  the  natural  sciences,  and. 

11.  To  write  essays  on  all  the  subjects  I  study. 

Such  rules  and  resolutions  abound  in  Tolstoy^s  Diary. 
After  failing  to  act  up  to  them,  he  again  and  again 
gathers  his  energies  and  maps  out  for  himself  plans  of  life 
and  courses  of  study  sufficient  to  tax  the  energies  of  an 
intellectual  giant. 

As  to  his  religious  opinions  at  this  time,  he  tells  us  : 

I  was  baptized  and  brought  up  in  the  Orthodox  Christian 
faith.  I  was  taught  it  in  childhood  and  all  through  my  boy- 
hood and  youth.  But  before  I  left  the  University,  in  my 
second  year,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  I  no  longer  believed  any- 
thing I  had  been  taught.     (Co7ifession.^ 

His  Diary  nevertheless  shows  that  he  prayed  frequently 
and  earnestly ;  the  fact  no  doubt  being,  that  though 
intellectually  he  discarded  the  Orthodox  Russo  -  Greek 
Church,  in  times  of  trouble  or  distress  he  instinctively 
appealed  to  God  for  help.  His  opinions  were  wavering 
and  immature,  as  he  himself  tells  us  in  another  passage : 

The  religious  beliefs  taught  me  in  childhood  disappeared  .  .  . 
and  as  from  the  time  I  was  fifteen  I  began  to  read  philosophic 
works,  my  rejection  of  those  beliefs  very  soon  became  a  con- 
scious one.  From  the  age  of  sixteen  I  ceased  going  to  Church 
and  fasting  of  my  own  accord.  I  did  not  believe  what  had 
been  taught  me  from  childhood,  but  I  believed  in  something. 
What  it  was  I  believed  in,  I  could  not  at  all  have  said.  I 
believed  in  a  God,  or  rather  I  did  not  deny  God ;  but  I  could 
not  have  said  what  sort  of  God.     Neither  did  I  deny  Christ 


40  LEO  TOLSTOY 

and  his  teaching,  but  what  his  teaching  consisted  in  I  could 
also  not  have  said. 

Looking  back  on  that  time  now,  I  see  clearly  that  my  faith — 
my  only  real  faith,  that  which  apart  from  my  animal  instincts 
gave  impulse  to  my  life — was  a  belief  in  perfecting  oneself. 
But  in  what  this  perfecting  consisted  and  what  its  object  was, 
I  could  not  have  said.  I  tried  to  perfect  myself  mentally — I 
studied  everything  I  could  :  anything  life  threw  in  my  way ; 
I  tried  to  perfect  my  will,  I  drew  up  rules  which  I  tried  to 
follow ;  I  perfected  myself  physically,  cultivating  my  strength 
and  agility  by  all  sorts  of  exercises  and  accustoming  myself  to 
endurance  and  patience  by  all  kinds  of  privations.  And  all 
this  I  considered  to  be  perfecting  myself.  The  beginning  of 
it  all  was,  of  course,  moral  perfecting;  but  that  was  soon 
replaced  by  perfecting  in  general :  by  the  desire  to  be  better, 
not  in  one's  own  eyes  or  those  of  God,  but  in  the  eyes  of 
other  people.  And  veiy  soon  this  effort  again  changed  into  a 
desire  to  be  stronger  than  others :  to  be  more  famous,  more 
important  and  richer  than  others.     {Confessmi.') 

When  speaking  of  Tolstoy's  relations  with  women,  it 
should  be  borne  in  mind  that  incontinence  for  young  men 
was  then  considered  so  natural  that  few  of  them  in  his 
position  would  have  felt  any  serious  qualms  of  conscience 
about  such  visits  to  houses  of  ill-fame  as  he  lets  us  know 
that  he  began  to  pay  at  this  time.  His  brother  Dmitry 
however  led  a  chaste  life,  and  alternating  with  gross 
lapses  of  conduct,  we  find  Leo  noting  down  for  his  own 
guidance  such  resolutions  as  the  following : 

To  regard  the  society  of  women  as  a  necessary  unpleasant- 
ness of  social  life,  and  to  keep  away  from  them  as  much  as 
possible.  From  whom  indeed  do  we  get  sensuality,  eifeminacy, 
frivolity  in  everything,  and  many  other  vices,  if  not  from 
women  ?  Whose  fault  is  it,  if  not  women's,  that  we  lose  our 
innate  qualities  of  boldness,  resolution,  reasonableness,  justice, 
etc. .''  Women  are  more  receptive  than  men,  therefore  in 
virtuous  ages  women  were  better  than  we;  but  in  the  present 
depraved  and  vicious  age  they  are  worse  than  we  are. 


YOUTH  41 

During  his  years  at  the  University,  Tolstoy  saw  much  of 
his  brother  Dmitry,  of  whom  he  says  : 

I  remember  also  at  the  University  that  when  my  elder 
brother  Dmitry,  suddenly  in  the  passionate  way  natural  to 
him  devoted  himself  to  religion  and  began  to  attend  all  the 
Church  services,  to  fast,  and  to  lead  a  pure  and  moral  life,  we 
all,  and  even  our  elders,  unceasingly  held  him  up  to  ridicule 
and  called  him,  for  some  unknown  reason, '  Noah.'  I  remember 
that  Moiisin-Poushkin  (then  Curator  of  Kazan  University), 
when  inviting  us  to  a  dance  at  his  house,  ironically  remon- 
strated with  my  brother,  -who  had  declined  the  invitation,  and 
used  the  argument  that  even  David  danced  before  the  Ark. 
I  sympathised  with  these  jokes  my  elders  made,  and  deduced 
from  them  the  conclusion  that  though  it  is  necessary  to  learn 
the  catechism  and  go  to  church,  one  must  not  take  such  things 
too  seriously.     (Confession.) 

Asain  we  read  of  this  brother : 

His  peculiarities  became  manifest,  and  are  impressed  on  my 
mind  from  the  time  of  our  life  at  Kazan.  Formerly  in  IMoscow 
I  remember  that  he  did  not  fall  in  love,  as  Seiyozha  and  I  did, 
and  was  not  fond  of  dancing  or  of  military  pageants,  but  studied 
well  and  strenuously.  ...  At  Kazan  I,  who  had  always  imitated 
Seryozha,  began  to  grow  depraved.  .  .  .  Not  only  at  Kazan, 
but  even  earlier,  I  used  to  take  pains  about  my  appearance.  I 
tried  to  be  elegant,  comme  ilfaut.  There  was  no  trace  of  any- 
thing of  this  kind  in  Mitenka.  I  think  he  never  suffered  from 
the  usual  vices  of  youth ;  he  was  always  serious  thoughtful 
pure  and  resolute,  though  hot-tempered,  and  whatever  he  did, 
he  did  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  .  ,  .  He  wrote  verses  with 
great  facility.  I  remember  how  admirably  he  translated 
Schiller's  Der  Jungling  am  Bache,  but  he  did  not  devote  him- 
self to  this  occupation.  .  .  .  He  grew  up  associating  little  with 
others,  always — except  in  his  moments  of  anger — quiet  and 
serious.  He  was  tall,  rather  thin,  and  not  very  strong,  with 
long,  large  hands  and  round  shoulders.  I  do  not  know  how  or 
by  what  he  was  attracted  at  so  early  an  age  towards  a  religious 
life,  but  it  began  in  the  very  first  year  of  his  University  career. 


42  LEO  TOLSTOY 

His  religious  aspirations  natui'ally  directed  him  to  Church  life, 
and  he  devoted  himself  to  this  with  his  usual  thoroughness. 

In  Mitenka  there  must  have  existed  that  valuable  character- 
istic which  I  believe  my  mother  to  have  had,  and  which  I 
knew  in  Nik61enka,  but  of  which  I  was  altogether  devoid — 
complete  indifference  to  other  people's  opinion  about  oneself. 
Until  quite  lately  (in  old  age)  I  have  never  been  able  to  divest 
myself  of  concern  about  people's  opinion ;  but  Mitenka  w^as 
quite  free  from  this.  I  never  remember  on  his  face  that 
restrained  smile  which  involuntarily  appears  vi'hen  one  is  being 
praised.  I  always  remember  his  serious  quiet  sad,  sometimes 
severe,  almond-shaped  hazel  eyes.  Only  in  our  Kazan  days 
did  we  begin  to  pay  particular  attention  to  him,  and  then 
merely  because,  while  Sery6zha  and  I  attached  great  importance 
to  what  was  comme  il  faut — to  externalities — he  was  careless 
and  untidy,  and  we  condemned  him  for  this. 

We  others,  especially  Seryozha,  kept  up  acquaintance  with 
our  aristocratic  comrades  and  other  young  men.  Mitenka  on 
the  contrary  selected  out  of  all  the  students  a  piteous-looking, 
poor,  shabbily  dressed  youth,  Poluboyarinof  [which  may  be 
translated  Half-noble] — whom  a  humorous  fellow-student  of 
ours  called  Polubezobedof  [Half-dinnerless] — and  consorted 
only  with  him,  and  with  him  prepared  for  the  examinations. 
.  .  .  We  brothers,  and  even  our  aunt,  looked  down  on  Mitenka 
with  a  certain  contempt  for  his  low  tastes  and  associates ; 
and  the  same  attitude  was  adopted  by  our  frivolous  comrades. 

After  their  University  days  were  over,  Tolstoy  saw 
little  of  his  brother  Demetrius ;  so  it  will  be  convenient 
here  to  sacrifice  chronological  sequence  and  say  what  more 
there  is  to  tell  of  the  latter's  life  and  death.  The 
material  is  again  supplied  by  Tolstoy's  Reminiscences. 

When  we  divided  up  the  family  property,  according  to 
custom  the  estate  where  we  lived,  Yasnaya  Polyana,  was 
given  to  me.  Seryozha,  as  a  lover  of  horses  and  according 
to  his  wish,  received  Pirogovo,  where  there  was  a  stud.  To 
Mitenka  and  Nikolenka  were  given  the  two  other  estates  :  to 
Nik61enka,   Nikolsky ;    to   Mitenka,  the   Kursk    estate,    Sher- 


YOUTH  43 

batchovka.  I  have  kept  a  note  of  Mftenka's,  showins^  how  he 
regarded  the  possession  of  serfs.  The  idea  that  it  is  wrong, 
and  that  serfs  ought  to  be  liberated,  was  quite  unknown  in 
our  circle  in  the  'forties.  The  hereditary  possession  of  serfs 
seemed  a  necessary  condition  of  life,  and  all  that  could  be 
done  to  prevent  its  being  an  evil,  was  to  attend  not  only  to 
their  material  but  also  to  their  moral  welfare.  In  this  sense 
Mitenka  Avrote  very  seriously  naively  and  sincerely.  Think- 
ing he  could  not  do  otherwise,  he,  a  lad  of  twenty,  when  he 
left  the  University  took  it  upon  himself  to  direct  the  morality 
of  hundreds  of  peasant  families,  and  to  do  this  (as  Gogol 
recommended  in  his  Letters  to  a  Landorvner)  by  threats  of 
punishments  and  by  punishments.  .  .  .  But,  besides  this  duty 
to  his  serfs,  there  was  another  duty  which  at  that  time  it 
seemed  impossible  not  to  fulfil :  namely.  Military  or  Civil 
service.     And  Mitenka  decided  to  enter  the  Civil  Service. 

Tolstoy  proceeds  to  tell  how  his  brother,  desiring  to  be 
useful  to  his  country,  chose  legislation  as  his  speciality, 
and  going  to  Petersburg  astonished  the  Head  of  the 
Department  as  well  as  certain  aristocratic  acquaintances  by 
asking  where  he  could  find  a  place  in  which  he  could  be 
useful.  The  friend  to  whom  he  went  for  advice,  regarded 
the  service  of  the  State  merely  as  a  means  of  satisfying 
ambition,  and  '  such  a  question  had  probably  never 
occurred  to  him  before.'  Eventually  we  find  Demetrius 
returning  home  discouraged,  and  taking  up  some  local 
work.  All  this,  to  some  extent,  helps  us  to  understand 
Leo  Tolstoy's  sceptical  attitude  towards  the  institution  of 
Government,  and  his  strong  belief  that  men  in  Government 
service  are  solely  actuated  by  selfish  motives. 

Tolstoy  continues : 

After  we  had  both  left  the  University,  I  lost  sight  of  him. 
I  know  he  lived  the  same  severe,  abstemious  life,  knowing 
neither  wine  tobacco  nor,  above  all,  women,  till  he  was 
twenty-six,  which  was  very  rare  in  those  days.  I  know  also 
that  he  associated  with  monks  and  pilgrims.  ...  I  think  I 
was  already  in  the  Caucasus  when   an   extraordinaiy   change 


44  LEO  TOLSTOY 

took  place.  He  suddenly  took  to  drinking  smoking  wasting 
money  and  going  with  women.  How  it  happened  I  do  not 
know  ;  I  did  not  see  him  at  the  time.  I  only  know  that  his 
seducer  was  a  thoroughly  immoral  man  of  verj'  attractive 
appearance,  the  youngest  son  of  Islenyef  [an  uncle  of  the 
lady  Leo  Tolstoy  subsequently  married]. 

In  this  life  Mitenka  remained  the  same  serious  religious 
man  he  was  in  everything.  He  ransomed  from  the  brothel  a 
prostitute  named  Masha,  who  was  the  first  woman  he  knew, 
and  took  her  into  his  house.  But  this  life  did  not  last  long.  I 
believe  it  was  less  the  vicious  and  unhealthy  life  he  led  for 
some  months  in  Moscow,  than  his  mental  struggle  and  his 
qualms  of  conscience,  that  suddenly  destroyed  his  powerful 
organism.  He  became  consumptive,  went  to  the  country,  was 
doctored  in  the  provincial  town,  and  took  to  his  bed  in  Orel, 
where  I  saw  him  for  the  last  time  just  after  the  Crimean  war. 
He  was  in  a  dreadful  state  of  emaciation  :  one  could  even  see 
how  his  enormous  hand  joined  on  to  the  two  bones  of  his 
lower  arm ;  his  face  was  all  eyes,  and  they  were  still  the  same 
beautiful  serious  eyes,  with  a  penetrating  expression  of  inquiry 
in  them.  He  was  constantly  coughing  and  spitting,  but  was 
loth  to  die,  and  reluctant  to  believe  he  was  dying.  Poor  pock- 
marked Masha,  whom  he  had  rescued,  was  with  him  and  nursed 
him.  In  my  presence,  at  his  own  wish,  a  wonder-working  icon 
was  brought.  I  remember  the  expression  of  his  face  when  he 
prayed  to  it.  .  .  .  He  died  a  few  days  later  ! 

Students  of  the  didactic  writings  of  Tolstoy's  later 
years  will  notice  how  closely  his  injunctions  to  a  man  to 
keep  to  the  first  woman,  whoever  she  be,  with  whom  he 
has  had  intimate  relations,  correspond  with  the  line 
actually  followed  by  his  brother  Demetrius. 

When  Tolstoy  left  the  University,  however,  these  things 
were  still  unthought  of.  Let  us,  before  returning  to  the 
events  of  his  own  life  at  that  time,  notice  some  books  which 
he  read  between  the  ages  of  fourteen  and  twenty- one. 
They  included  : 

The  Sermon  on  the  Mount  from  St.  Matthew's  Gospel, 


YOUTH  45 

Rousseau''s  Caiifession  and  EmUe,  and 
Dickens's  David  Copperfield, 

which  all  had  an  '  immense '  influence  on  him. 

In  another  category  came  works  which  he  says  had 
*  very  great ""  influence.      These  were : 

Rousseau's  Nouvelle  Heldise, 
Sterne's  Sentimental  Journey, 
Poushkin's  Eugene  Onegin, 
Schiller's  The  Robbers, 
Gogol's  Dead  Souls, 
Tourgenef  s  A  Sportsman''s  Sketches, 
Drouzhinin's  Polenha  Sax, 

Grigordvitch's  Anton  GoremyTia,  and  the  chapter  Taman 
from  Lermontof  s  A  Hero  of  Our  Times. 

In  a  third  category  he  mentions  some  of  Gogol's 
Shorter  Stories,  and  Prescott's  Conquest  of  Mexico,  as 
having  had  '  great '  influence. 

In  these  works  one  finds  many  ideas  which  have  been 
congenial  to  Tolstoy  throughout  his  life,  and  his  adhesion 
to  which  has  only  become  firmer  with  age.  In  illustration 
of  this,  take  a  couple  of  passages  from  Dickens  which 
many  readers  may  have  passed  without  much  attention, 
but  which  to  Tolstoy  represented  the  absolute  truth  of 
the  matters  they  touch  on.  David  Copperfield  says  of 
Parliament : 

...  I  considered  myself  reasonably  entitled  to  escape  from 
the  dreary  debates.  One  joyful  night,  therefore,  I  noted  down 
the  music  of  the  parliamentary  bagpipes  for  the  last  time,  and 
I  have  never  heard  it  since ;  though  I  still  recognise  the  old 
drone  in  the  newspapers  without  any  substantial  variation 
(except,  perhaps,  that  there  is  more  of  it)  all  the  livelong 
session. 

To    most    Englishmen    with     memories    of    Pym    and 


46  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Hampden,  or  personal  knowledge  of  the  lives  of  men  who 
have  devoted  themselves  disinterestedly  to  public  affairs, 
Parliamentary  or  local,  Dickens''s  sneer  at  Parliament  seems 
but  a  paradox  or  a  joke ;  but  to  Tolstoy,  with  his  in- 
herited dislike  of  G-overnment,  this  testimony  from  a  great 
English  writer  (who  had  served  as  a  Parliamentary  reporter) 
seemed  irrefutable  evidence  of  the  futility  of  Parliaments. 

Take,  again,  a  passage  in  which  Dickens  hits  a  nail 
adroitly  on  the  head  : 

Mr,  Micawber  had  a  relish  in  this  formal  piling  up  of  words, 
which,  however  ludicrously  displayed  in  his  case,  was,  I  must 
say,  not  at  all  peculiar  to  him.  I  have  observed  it,  in  the 
course  of  my  life,  in  numbers  of  men.  It  seems  to  me  to 
be  a  general  rule.  In  the  taking  of  legal  oaths,  for  instance, 
deponents  seem  to  enjoy  themselves  mightily  when  they  come 
to  several  grand  words  in  succession,  for  the  expression  of  one 
idea — as,  that  they  utterly  detest,  abominate,  and  abjure,  and 
so  forth — and  the  old  anathemas  were  made  relishing  on  the 
same  principle.  We  talk  about  the  tyranny  of  words,  but  we 
like  to  tyrannise  over  them  too.  We  are  fond  of  having  a  large 
superfluous  establishment  of  words  to  wait  upon  us  on  great 
occasions ;  we  think  it  looks  important,  and  sounds  Avell.  As 
we  are  not  particular  about  the  meaning  of  our  liveries  on 
State  occasions,  if  they  be  but  fine  and  numerous  enough,  so 
the  meaning  or  necessity  of  our  words  is  a  secondary  considera- 
tion, if  there  be  but  a  great  parade  of  them. 

No  modem  writer  has  ever  more  carefully  eschewed  the 
practice  Dickens  here  attacks  than  Tolstoy  has  done  through- 
out his  career.  Indeed,  he  is  far  stricter  than  Dickens 
in  this  respect. 

But  much  more  important  than  the  influence  of  Dickens 
was  that  of  Rousseau,  of  whom  Tolstoy  once  remarked : 

I  have  read  the  whole  of  Rousseau — all  his  twenty  volumes, 
including  his  Dictionary  of  Music.  I  was  more  than  enthusiastic 
about  him,  I  worshipped  him.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  I  wore  a 
medalHon  portrait  of  him  next  my  body  instead  of  the  Orthodox 


YOUTH  47 

cross.     Many  of  his  pages  are  so  akin  to  me  that  it  seems  to 
me  that  I  must  have  written  them  myself. 

Another  writer  who  influenced  Tolstoy,  though  to  a 
very  much  smaller  extent,  was  Voltaire,  of  whom  he  says  : 

I  also  remember  that  I  read  Voltaire  when  I  was  very  young, 
and  his  ridicule  (of  religion)  not  only  did  not  shock  me,  but 
amused  me  very  much. 

Everything  Tolstoy  has  done  in  his  life  he  has  done  with 
intensity  ;  and  that  this  applies  to  the  way  in  which  he 
read  books  in  his  youth,  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  we  find 
him  as  an  old  man,  in  1898,  in  JVhat  is  Art?  according 
the  highest  praise  to  books  he  had  read  before  he  was 
twentv-one,  or  even  before  he  was  fourteen. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  1847  that  Tolstoy,  who  was 
not  yet  nineteen,  returned  to  his  estate  of  Yasnaya 
Polyana,  to  live  with  his  dear  Aunty  Tatiana  ;  to  '  perfect ' 
himself,  to  study,  to  manage  his  estate,  and  to  improve 
the  condition  of  his  serfs.  The  last  part  of  this  pro- 
gramme, at  any  rate,  was  not  destined  to  have  much 
success.  Thoug-h  one  must  never  treat  Tolstoy's  fiction  as 
strictly  autobiographical,  yet  A  Squire's  Morning  gives  a 
very  fair  idea  of  his  own  efforts  to  improve  the  lot  of  his 
serfs,  and  of  the  difficulties  and  failures  he  encountered 
in  the  course  of  that  attempt.  In  that  story  Prince 
Nehludof  decides  to  leave  the  University  and  settle  in  the 
country,  and  writes  to  his  aunt : 

As  I  already  wrote  you,  I  found  affairs  in  indescribable  dis- 
order. Wishing  to  put  them  right,  I  discovered  that  the  chief 
evil  is  the  truly  pitiable,  wretched  condition  of  the  serfs,  and 
this  is  an  evil  that  can  only  be  remedied  by  work  and  patience. 
If  you  could  but  see  two  of  my  serfs,  David  and  Ivan,  and  the 
life  they  and  their  families  lead,  I  am  sure  the  sight  of  these 
two  poor  wretches  would  convince  you  more  than  all  I  can  say 
in  explanation  of  my  intention. 

Is  it  not  my  plain  and  sacred  duty  to  care  for  the  welfare  of 


48  LEO  TOLSTOY 

these  seven  hundred  people  for  whom  I  must  account  to  God  ? 
Will  it  not  be  a  sin  if,  following  plans  of  pleasure  or  ambition, 
I  abandon  them  to  the  caprice  of  coarse  Elders  and  stewards  ? 
And  why  should  I  seek  in  any  other  sphere  opportunities  of 
being  useful  and  doing  good,  when  I  have  before  me  such  a 
noble  brilliant  and  intimate  duty  ? 

Not  only  is  this  letter  just  such  as  Tolstoy  himself 
may  have  written,  but  the  difficulties  Nehliidof  en- 
counters when  he  tries  to  move  his  peasants  from  the  ruts 
to  which  generations  of  serfdom  had  accustomed  them,  are 
just  those  Tolstoy  himself  met  with  :  the  suspicion  shown 
by  the  serfs  towards  any  fresh  interference  on  the  part  of 
the  master,  and  the  fact  that  ways  to  which  a  community 
have  grown  accustomed  are  not  easily  changed  by  the 
sudden  effort  of  a  well-intentioned  but  inexperienced 
proprietor. 

After  spending  the  summer  of  1847  at  Yasnaya,  Tolstoy 
went  to  Petersburg,  where  we  find  him  settled  in  autumn ; 
and  early  next  year  he  entered  for  examination  at  the 
University  of  that  city. 

On  the  13th  of  the  following  February  he  wrote  to  his 

1848    brother  Sergius  : 

I  write  you  this  letter  from  Petersburg,  where  I  intend  to 
remain  for  ever.  ...  I  have  decided  to  stay  here  for  ray 
examinations  and  then  to  enter  the  service.  .  .   . 

In  brief,  I  must  say  that  Petersburg  life  has  a  great  and 
food  influence  on  me  :  it  accustoms  me  to  activity  and  supplies 
the  place  of  a  fixed  table  of  occupations.  Somehow  one 
cannot  be  idle ;  every  one  is  occupied  and  active ;  one  cannot 
find  a  man  with  whom  one  could  lead  an  aimless  life,  and  one 
can't  do  it  alone.  .  .  . 

I  know  you  will  not  believe  that  I  have  changed,  but  will 
say,  'It's  already  the  twentieth  time,  and  nothing  comes  of 
you — the  emptiest  of  fellows.'  No,  I  have  now  altered  in 
quite  a  new  way.  I  used  to  say  to  myself:  'Now  I  will 
change,'  but  at  last  I  see  that  I  have  changed,  and  I  say,  '  I 
have  changed.' 


Tolstoy  in  1848,  after  he  had  left  the  University. 


YOUTH  49 

Above  all,  I  am  now  quite  convinced  that  one  cannot  live 
by  theorising  and  philosophising,  but  must  live  positively,  i.e. 
must  be  a  practical  man.  That  is  a  great  step  in  advance  and 
a  great  change ;  it  never  happened  to  me  before.  If  one  is 
young  and  wishes  to  live,  there  is  no  place  in  Russia  but  Peters- 
burg for  it.  .  .  . 

On  the  1st  of  May  he  wrote  again  to  his  brother,  in  a 
very  different  strain  : 

Seryozha !  I  think  you  already  say  I  am  'the  emptiest  of 
fellows,'  and  it  is  true.  God  knows  what  I  have  done  !  I  came 
to  Petersburg  without  any  reason,  and  have  done  nothing  use- 
ful here,  but  have  spent  heaps  of  money  and  got  into  debt. 
Stupid !  Insufferably  stupid  !  You  can't  believe  how  it 
torments  me.  Above  all,  the  debts,  which  I  must  pay  as  soon  as 
possible,  because  if  I  don't  pay  them  soon,  besides  losing  the 
money,  I  shall  lose  my  reputation.  ...  I  know  you  will  cry 
out ;  but  what 's  to  be  done .''  One  commits  such  folly  once 
in  a  lifetime.  I  have  had  to  pay  for  my  freedom  (there  was 
no  one  to  thrash  me,  that  was  my  chief  misfortune)  and  for 
philosophising,  and  now  I  have  paid  for  it.  Be  so  kind  as  to 
arrange  to  get  me  out  of  this  false  and  horrid  position — penni- 
less and  in  debt  all  round. 

He  goes  on  to  mention  that  he  had  passed  two  examina- 
tions at  the  University,  but  that  he  had  altered  his  mind, 
and  now,  instead  of  completing  his  examinations,  wanted 
to  '  enter  the  Horse  Guards  as  a  Junker.'  (A  Junker  was 
a  young  man  who  volunteered  for  the  army  as  a  Cadet. 
Before  receiving  a  commission,  a  Junker  lived  with  the 
officers,  while  preparing  to  become  one  of  them.) 

God  willing,  I  will  amend  and  become  a  steady  man  at  last, 
I  hope  much  from  my  service  as  a  Junker,  which  will  train  me 
to  practical  life,  and  nolens-vokns  I  shall  have  to  earn  the  rank 
of  officer.  With  luck,  i.e.  if  the  Guards  go  into  action,  I  may 
get  a  commission  even  before  the  usual  two  years  are  up.  The 
Guards  start  for  the  front  at  the  end  of  May.  At  present  I 
can  do  nothing  :  first,  because  I  have  no  money  (of  which  I 

0 


50  LEO  TOLSTOY 

shall  not  need  much,  I  fancy),  and  secondly,  because  my  two 
birth-certificates  are  at  Yasnaya.  Have  them  sent  on  as  soon 
as  possible. 

Before  long,  Tolstoy  was  again  writing  to  his  brother  : 

In  my  last  letter  I  wrote  much  nonsense,  of  which  the  chief 
item  was  that  I  intended  to  enter  the  Horse  Guards ;  I  shall 
act  on  that  plan  only  in  case  I  fail  in  my  examinations,  and  if 
the  war  is  a  serious  one. 

The  war  in  question  was  Russia's  share  in  quelling  the 
Hungarian  rebellion  of  1849.  Not  a  thought  of  the  justice 
or  otherwise  of  the  cause  seems  at  that  time  to  have 
crossed  the  mind  of  him  who  in  later  life  became  so  power- 
ful an  indicter  of  war. 

This  is  Tolstoy's  own  summary,  written  many  years 
later,  of  the  period  we  are  now  dealing  with : 

It  was  very  pleasant  living  in  the  country  with  Aunty 
Tatiana,  but  an  indefinite  thirst  for  knowledge  drew  me  away 
to  a  distance.  This  was  in  1848,  and  I  was  still  uncertain 
what  to  undertake.  In  Petersburg  two  roads  were  open  to 
me.  I  could  either  enter  the  army,  to  take  part  in  the 
Hungarian  campaign,  or  I  could  complete  my  studies  at  the 
University,  to  enter  the  Civil  Service.  My  thirst  for  knowledge 
conquered  my  ambition,  and  I  again  began  to  study.  I  even 
passed  two  examinations  in  Law,  but  then  all  rny  good  resolu- 
tions broke  down.  Spring  came,  and  the  charm  of  country  life 
again  drew  me  back  to  my  estate. 

Of  the  two  examinations   he   passed   at   this   time   he 

says  : 

In  1848  I  went  to  pass  the  examinations  for  my  degree  at 
Petersburg  University,  knowing  literally  nothing,  and  reading 
up  during  only  one  week.  I  worked  day  and  night ;  and 
passed  with  Honours  in  Civil  and  Criminal  Law. 

But  in  spite  of  this  success  he  did  not  take  the  remain- 
ing examinations,  and  returned  to  Ydsnaya  without  having 


YOUTH  51 

obtained  a  degree — finally  abandoning  the  attempt  to 
do  so. 

In  later  times,  when  Tolstoy'^s  reputation  was  world- 
wide, critics  often  amused  themselves  by  detecting  incon- 
sistencies in  his  conduct  and  questioning  his  sincerity. 
But  the  proof  of  his  sincerity  is  writ  large  in  the  story  of 
his  life.  Time  after  time,  from  the  earliest  pages  of  his 
Diary,  we  find  him  vehemently  resolving  never  more  to  do 
certain  things,  but  always  to  do  other  things,  and  again 
and  again  confessing  in  the  greatest  tribulation,  that  he 
had  failed  to  carry  out  his  intentions ;  yet  in  spite  of 
everything  he  returns,  and  again  returns,  to  his  earliest 
ideals  and  gradually  shapes  his  life  into  accord  with  them, 
and  eventually  forms  habits  which,  when  he  first  extolled 
them,  appeared  utterly  beyond  his  reach.  Not  insincerity 
but  impetuosity,  retrieved  by  extraordinary  tenacity  of 
purpose,  has  always  characterised  him.  It  was  the  same 
with  his  thirst  for  knowledge  as  with  his  yet  deeper  thirst 
after  righteousness.  Often  as  he  was  swayed  by  the  lures  of 
life,  each  of  those  two  great  desires  found  its  satisfaction 
at  last. 

The  letters  quoted  above  show  some  consciousness  of 
the  fact  that  there  is  a  practical  side  to  life  not  to  be 
mastered  by  theorising ;  but  the  duty  of  learning  by  ex- 
perience as  well  as  by  ratiocination  is  one  Tolstoy  has 
very  seldom  dwelt  on,  and  never,  I  think,  realised  at  all 
fully. 

Another  characteristic  matter  alluded  to  in  these  letters 
is  the  difficulty  he  found  himself  in  for  lack  of  his  birth- 
certificates  and  other  papers.  Russia  has  long  suffered 
from  a  superabundance  of  red  tape,  which  contrasts 
strongly  with  the  slipshod  habits  of  its  people,  and  pro- 
motes the  hatred  of  officialism  that  is  there  so  common. 
The  fiict  that  Tolstoy  has  on  several  occasions  been  put  to 
great  inconvenience  for  lack  of  certificates,  which  it  was 
not  in  his  nature  methodically  to  keep  in  readiness,  is  a 


52  LEO  TOLSTOY 

small  matter,  but  it  has  probably  had  its  share  in  increas- 
ing his  strong  dislike  of  governments. 

From  Petersburg  he  brought  back  with  him  to  Yasnaya 
a  gifted  but  drunken  German  musician  named  Rudolph, 
with  whom  he  had  chanced  to  make  acquaintance,  and 
whose  talent  he  had  discerned.  For  some  time  Tolstoy 
devoted  himself  passionately  to  music,  acquiring  sufficient 
skill  on  the  piano  to  become  an  excellent  and  sympathetic 
accompanist.  He  was  always  very  susceptible  to  the  in- 
fluence of  music,  and  in  music,  as  in  literature,  he  had 
strong  sympathies  and  antipathies.  Rudolph  supplies  the 
principal  figure  in  Tolstoy's  story  Albei't,  written  several 
years  later. 

Aunt  Tatid,na,  who  had  played  the  piano  excellently  in 
youth,  but  had  quite  given  it  up  for  nearly  thirty  years, 
and  who  was  now  fifty-three  years  of  age,  resumed  its 
practice  and,  Tolstoy  tells  us,  played  duets  with  him,  and 
often  surprised  him  by  the  accuracy  and  beauty  of  her 
execution. 

For  the  next  three  years  he  lived  partly  at  Yasnaya  and 
partly  in  Moscow,  and  led  a  life  alternating  between  the 
asceticism  of  his  brother  Demetrius  and  the  self-indulgence 
of  his  brother  Sergius ;  with  dissipation,  hunting,  gam- 
bling, and  the  society  of  gipsy-girl  singers.  These  were 
among  the  wildest  and  most  wasted  years  of  his  life  ;  but 
even  here  we  find  him,  in  the  summer  of  1850,  resuming 
his  Diary  with  penitence  and  self-reproach,  and  drawing 
up  a  time-table  of  how  his  days  are  in  future  to  be  spent : 
estate  management,  bathing,  diary-writing,  music,  dinner, 
rest,  reading,  bathing,  and  again  estate  business  to  close 
the  day.  This  curriculum  was,  however,  neglected.  Gusts 
of  passion  again  swept  away  his  good  resolutions. 

At  this  time  he  made  his  first  attempt  to  start  a 
school  for  the  peasant  children  of  Ydsnaya;  but  it  was 
closed  again  two  years  later  when  he  was  in  pecuniary  diffi- 
culties;  and  it  was  not  till  1862  that  he  discovered  that 


YOUTH  53 

he  had  infringed  the  law  by  opening  it  without  official 
permission. 

In  relation  to  women,  Tolstoy's  ideal  was  a  regular  and 
affectionate  family  life.  Women  were  for  him  divided 
into  two  groups  :  those  sacred  ones  who  could  be  looked  on 
as  possible  wives  or  sisters,  and  those  who,  like  the  gipsy 
singers,  could  be  paid  for  and  possessed  for  short  periods. 
To  try  to  wipe  out  by  a  money  payment  any  obligation 
arising  from  intimate  relations,  seems  to  have  been  his 
fixed  rule.  His  animal  passions  were  very  strong,  and  late 
in  life  I  have  heard  him  say  that  neither  drinking,  cards, 
smoking,  nor  any  other  bad  habit,  had  been  nearly  so  hard 
for  him  to  overcome  as  his  desire  for  women.  But  he 
never  doubted  that  that  desire  was  a  bad  one.  To  judge 
him  fairly,  it  must  be  remembered  how  loose  was  the 
general  tone  of  the  society  in  which  he  lived,  and  that 
the  advice  given  him  at  this  critical  time  of  his  life 
by  those  who  were  his  natural  guides,  was  not  that  he 
should  live  a  chaste  life,  but  that  he  should  attach  himself 
to  a  woman  of  good  social  position.  In  his  Confession  he 
tells  us  : 

The  kind  aunt  with  whom  I  livedo  herself  the  purest  of 
beings,  always  told  me  that  there  was  nothing  she  so  desired 
for  me  as  that  I  should  have  relations  with  a  married  woman  : 
'  Rien  ne  forme  un  jeune  homme,  comme  une  liaison  avec  une  fomme 
comme  il  fold '  [Nothing  so  forms  a  young  man,  as  an  intimacy 
with  a  woman  of  good  breeding].  Another  happiness  she 
desired  for  me  was  that  I  should  become  an  aide-de-camp,  and  if 
possible  aide-de-camp  to  the  Emperor.  But  the  greatest  happi- 
ness of  all  would  be  that  I  should  marry  a  very  rich  girl  and 
become  possessed  of  as  many  serfs  as  possible. 

We  never  find  Tolstoy  involved  in  any  family  scandal,  or 
called  on  to  fight  a  duel  about  women  ;  but  his  Diary  at 
this  period  contains  many  traces  of  his  struggles  and  his 
falls ;  as  when  he  writes  : 


54  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Men  whom  I  consider  morally  lower  than  myself,  do  evil 
better  than  I.  ...  I  live  an  animal  life,  though  not  quite 
debauched.  My  occupations  are  almost  all  abandoned,  and 
I  am  greatly  depressed  in  spirit. 

His  pecuniary  affairs  became  disordered,  owing  to  his 
gambling  and  other  bad  habits,  and  towards  the  end  of 
1850  he  thought  of  trying  to  earn  money  by  taking  on  a 
contract  to  run  the  post-station  at  Toula,  which  before 
railways  were  built  was  an  undertaking  of  some  importance. 
Varied  however  as  Tolstoy's  abilities  unquestionably  are, 
Nature  never  intended  him  to  be  a  man  of  business,  and 
this  plan  fortunately  came  to  nothing. 

The  winter  of  1850-51  he  passed  for  the  most  part 
in  Moscow,  and  as  a  foretaste  of  the  simplification  of  life 
1850-  which  was  to  be  such  a  prominent  feature  of  his  later 
18.51  years,  we  find  him  writing  to  his  aunt  at  Yasnaya  : 
'  Je  dine  a  la  maison  avec  des  stchi  et  kasha  dont  je  vie  con- 
tente  parfaitement '  [I  dine  at  home  on  cabbage  soup  and 
buckwheat  porridge,  with  which  I  am  quite  contented]  ; 
and  he  goes  on  to  say  that  he  only  awaits  the  preserves  and 
home-made  liqueurs  (which  she  no  doubt  sent  him)  to  have 
everything  as  he  was  accustomed  to  have  it  in  the  country. 

We  find  Aunty  Tatiana  warning  him  against  card- 
playing.     Tolstoy  replies  in  French  : 

*  Tout  ce  que  vous  me  dites  au  sujet  de  la  perversite  du  jeu 
est  tres  vrai  et  me  revient  souvent  k  I'esprit.  C'est  pourquoi 
je  crois  que  je  ne  jouerai  plus.  ,  .  .  'Je  crois,'  mais  j'espere 
bientot  vous  dire  pour  sur. 

In  March  1851  he  returned  to  Moscow  after  visiting 
Yasnaya,  and  he  notes  in  his  Diary  that  he  went  there 
with   the    treble  aim    of    playing  cards,   getting   married, 

*A11  that  you  say  about  the  perversity  of  play  is  very  true,  and 
I  often  think  about  it,  and  that  is  why  I  believe  that  1  shall  gamble  no 
more.  ...  'I  believe,'  but  I  hope  soon  to  tell  you  for  certain. 


YOUTH  55 

and  entering  the  Civil  Service.  Not  one  of  these  three 
objects  was  attained.  He  took  an  aversion  to  cards.  For 
marriage  he  considered  a  conjunction  of  love,  reason, 
and  fate  to  be  necessary,  and  none  of  these  was  pre- 
sent. As  to  entering  the  service,  it  was  again  the  fact  that 
he  had  not  brought  the  necessary  documents  with  him  that 
barred  the  way. 

In  March  he  writes  to  Aunty  Tatidna  and  says  he  believes 
it  to  be  true  that  spring  brings  a  moral  renovation.  It 
always  does  him  good,  and  he  is  able  to  maintain  his  good 
intentions  for  some  months.  Winter  is  the  season  that 
causes  him  to  go  wrong. 

Next  came  a  period  of  religious  humility  :  he  fasted 
diligently  and  composed  a  sermon,  which  of  course  was 
never  preached.  He  also  tried  unsuccessfully  to  write  a  gipsy 
story  and  an  imitation  of  Steme"'s  Sentimental  Journey. 

This  period  of  his  life  was  brought  to  a  close  by  the 
return  from  the  Caucasus,  on  leave  of  absence,  of  his 
eldest  brother  Nicholas,  who  was  by  this  time  an  artillery 
officer. 

Anxious  to  economise  and  pay  off  the  debts  he  had  con- 
tracted at  cards,  especially  one  of  Rs.  4000  to  Ogarydf,  a 
gendarme  officer,  who  owned  a  small  estate  not  far  from  Yds- 
naya,  Leo  resolved  to  accompany  his  brother  on  the  latter^s 
return  to  the  Caucasus.  He  entrusted  his  estate  to  the  care 
of  his  brother-in-law  (Mary's  husband),  who  was  to  pay  his 
debts  and  allow  him  only  Rs.  500  (then  equal  to  about  .£'80) 
a  year  to  live  on,  and  he  gave  his  word  not  to  play  cards 
any  more. 

Tolstoy  had  another  reason  for  wishing  to  escape  from 
his  accustomed  surroundings.  His  brother  Sergius  was  very 
fond  of  the  gipsy  choirs,  famous  in  Russia  for  their  musical 
talent.  These  choirs  used  to  visit  Ydsnaya,  and  Leo  Tolstoy, 
who  shared  his  brother's  susceptibility  to  the  fascinations 
of  the  gipsy  girls,  saw  a  means  of  safety  in  flight  to  the 
Caucasus. 


56  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Before  closing  this  chapter,  let  us  note  the  extraordinary 
freedom  enjoyed  by  young  men  of  Tolstoy's  class  in  those 
days  of  serfdom.  Economically,  serfdom  supplied  them  with 
means,  at  the  expense  of  a  class  deprived  of  almost  all  rights 
and  absolutely  dependent  on  their  owners.  Even  if  a  mem- 
ber of  the  aristocracy  ruined  himself,  family  interest  or  a 
])rudent  marriage  often  retrieved  the  position  for  him. 
Religious  restraint  counted  for  little,  for  side  by  side  with 
superstition,  scepticism  was  common  among  the  educated. 
The  standard  of  morals  expected  of  a  young  man  was 
elastic  and  ill-defined^  No  irksome  sense  of  public  duty 
pressed  on  his  attention.  Politics,  in  our  sense  of  the 
word,  were  forbidden ;  and  though  he  had  to  enter  the 
State  service  (civil  or  military),  this  was  regarded  either 
as  a  way  of  making  a  career  for  himself,  or  as  a  mere 
formality. 

The  detachment  from  the  real  business  of  life  in  which 
young  Russians  grew  up,  and  the  comparative  isolation  in 
which  they  lived  on  their  country  estates,  explain  the 
extremely  radical  conclusions  often  arrived  at  by  those  of 
them  who  wished  to  make  the  world  better.  Chain  a  man 
to  the  heavily  laden  car  of  social  progress,  and  he  can  only 
advance  very  slowly,  though  any  advance  he  does  accomplish 
represents  much  effort  and  is  of  practical  importance. 
Detach  him  from  that  car,  and  he  may  easily  and  pleasantly 
fly  away  on  the  winds  of  speculation  to  the  uttermost  realm 
of  the  highest  heaven,  without  its  producing  any  imme- 
diately perceptible  result  on  the  lives  of  his  fellow-men. 
What  I  mean  is,  that  the  less  a  man  is  involved  in 
practical  work,  the  easier  and  pleasanter  it  is  for  him  to 
take  up  extreme  positions;  I  do  not  mean  to  deny  that 
activity  in  the  realm  of  thought  and  feeling  exerts  an 
unseen  yet  potent  influence  on  other  minds,  and  ultimately 
on  practical  affairs. 

A  knowledge  of  the  social  surroundings  in  which  Tolstoy 
grew  up  makes  it  easier  to  understand  the  doctrines  he 


YOUTH  57 

subsequently  taught.  It  was  partly  because  he  grew  up  in  a 
detached  and  irresponsible  position  that  the  state  of  his  own 
mind  and  soul  were  to  him  so  much  more  important  than 
the  immediate  effect  of  his  conduct  on  others,  and  the  same 
cause  led  him  to  remain  in  ignorance  of  lessons  every  intelli- 
gent man  of  business  among  us  learns  of  necessity. 

His  independent  position  made  easier  the  formation  of 
that  state  of  mind  free  from  intellectual  prejudice  which 
enabled  him  later  on  to  examine  the  claims  of  the  Church, 
of  the  Bible,  of  the  economists,  of  governments,  and  the  most 
firmly  established  manners  and  customs  of  society,  untram- 
melled by  the  fear  of  shocking  or  hurting  other  people, 
though  all  the  time  his  feelings  were  so  sensitive  that  it  has 
never  been  possible  for  him  to  doubt  or  question  the  good- 
ness of  those  lines  of  conduct  which  he  had  admired  and 
approved  when  in  childhood  he  saw  them  practised  by  those 
near  and  dear  to  him. 

Contrasting  his  moral  attitude  with  that  of  a  young 
Englishman  anxious  to  do  right  in  our  day,  I  should  say 
that  Tolstoy  had  no  adequate  sense  of  being  a  responsible 
member  of  a  complex  community  with  the  opinions  and 
wishes  of  which  it  is  necessary  to  reckon.  On  the  contrary, 
his  tendency  was  to  recognise  with  extraordinary  vividness 
a  personal  dutv  revealed  by  the  working  of  his  own  con- 
science and  intellect  apart  from  any  systematic  study  of 
the  social  state  of  which  he  was  a  member. 

He  thus  came  to  see  things  in  a  way  we  do  not  see  them, 
while  he  remained  blind  to  some  things  with  which  we  are 
quite  familiar.  That  is  one  reason  why  he  is  so  extra- 
ordinarily interesting  :  he  puts  things  in  a  way  no  English- 
man would  ever  dream  of  putting  them,  and  yet  we  feel  how 
near  akin  we  of  the  Western  twentieth- century  world  are  to 
this  nineteenth-century  Russian  noble,  who  has  so  much  in 
common  with  the  medieval  saint  and  the  Oriental  fatalist ; 
and  this  helps  us  to  realise  that  all  nations  and  classes  of 
men  are,  indeed,  of  one  blood. 


58  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Later  on,  in  the  sequel  to  this  work,  when  we  have  to  deal 
with  Tolstoy''s  peaceful  anarchism  and  his  conviction  that 
no  external  regulation  of  society  is  necessary,  but  that  all 
men  would  naturally  do  right  were  they  not  ham.pered  by 
man-made  laws,  it  will  be  useful  to  bear  in  mind  that 
his  own  strength  grew  through  having  to  steer  unaided 
through  the  stormy  seas  of  passion,  and  from  finding  his 
own  way  to  a  haven  the  lights  of  which  had  first  shone  on 
him  in  childhood.  Like  the  rest  of  mankind,  he  judges 
others  by  himself. 

CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  II 

Birukof. 
Behrs. 

Novy  Mir. 

Education  and  Instruction,  and  On  the  Education  of  the  People,  in 

vol.  iv.  of  Tolstoy's  collected  works  :  Moscow,  1903. 
Confession.       Published    by    the    Svobodnoe    Slovo,    Christchurch, 

1901. 
Prof.  Zagoskin,  Stoudentcheskie  gody  gr.    Tolstogo,  in  Istoritchesky 

Vestnik :  January  1894. 
V.  N.  Nazaryef,  Zhizn  i  ludi  bylogo  vremeni,  in  Istoritchesky  Vestnik : 

November  1900. 
Tolstoy's  talk   with    Pogodin,  quoted  in   Mihaylovsky's  Literary 

Recollections :  Petersburg,  1900. 
L.  K.  Tolstoy.  By  E.  Solovef :  Petersburg,  1897. 
Light  is  also  thrown  on  this  period  by  Tolstoy's  Childhood,  Boy- 
hood, and  Youth,  The  Memoirs  of  a  Billiard  Marker,  Two  Hussars, 
A  Squire's  Morning,  and  Albert  (which,  however,  are  not  autobio- 
graphies), as  well  as  by  stories  included  in  Tolstoy's  Readers  for 
School-children — The  Old  Horse  and  How  I  Learned  to  Ride. 


CHAPTER,   III 

THE    CAUCASUS 

Journey.  Russian  Conquest.  Letters  to  Aunt  Tatiana.  Diary. 
Cossacks.  He  volunteers.  Enters  army.  Hadji  Mourat. 
Story  of  a  gaming  debt.  Sado.  Dreams  for  the  future. 
Childhood.  Shooting.  Boulka.  Slow  promotion.  The  Raid. 
The  Censor.  Danger.  Applies  for  discharge.  Applies  to 
Gortchakof.  Memoirs  of  a  Billiard  Marker.  Receives  his 
commission.     His  retrospect. 

The  brothers  Nicholas  and  Leo  left  Y^snaya  Polyana  on 
20th  April  1851,  and  spent  a  couple  of  weeks  in  Moscow. 
The  frankness  of  Leo's  intercourse  with  his  Aunt 
Tatiana  is  illustrated  by  the  following  letter  which 
he  wrote,  telling  her  of  a  visit  he  paid  to  Sokdlniki,  a 
pleasant  outskirt  of  Moscow  on  the  borders  of  a  pine 
forest,  where  a  fete  is  held  on  May-day. 

That  he  wrote  in  French  is  explained  by  the  fact  that 
Tatiana,  like  many  Russian  ladies  educated  early  in  the 
nineteenth  centurv,  knew  French  better  than  she  did 
Russian. 

*  J'ai  ete  a  la  promenade  de  Sokolniki  par  un  temps  detes- 
table, c'est  pourquoi  je  n'ai  rencontre  personne  des  dames  de  la 
societe,  que  j 'avals  envie  de  voir.  Comme  vous  pretendez  que 
je  suis  un  homme  k  epreuves,  je  suis  alle  parmi  les  plebs,  dans 
les  tentes  bohemiennes.     Vous  pouvez  aisement  vous  figurer  le 

*  I  went  to  the  fete  at  Sokolniki  in  detestable  weather,  which  was 
why  I  did  not  meet  any  of  the  society  ladies  I  wished  to  see.  As  you 
say  I  am  a  man  who  tests  himself,  I  went  among  the  plebs  in  the 
gipsy  teats.      You  can  easily  imagine  the  inward  struggle  I  there 

6» 


60  LEO  TOLSTOY 

combat  interieur  qui  s'engagea  la-bas  pour  et  contre.  Au  reste 
j'en  sortis  victorieux,  c.a  d.  n'ayant  rien  donne  que  ma  bene- 
diction aux  joyeux  descendants  des  illustres  Pharaons.  Nicolas 
trouve  que  je  suis  un  compagnon  de  voyage  tr^s  agreable,  si  ce 
n'etait  ma  proprete.  II  se  fache  de  ce  que,  comme  il  le  dit,  je 
change  de  linge  12  fois  par  jour.  Moi  je  le  trouve  aussi  com- 
pagnon tres  agreable,  si  ce  n'etait  sa  salete.  Je  ne  sais  lequel 
de  nous  a  raison. 

On  leaving  Moscow,  instead  of  travelling  to  the  Caucasus 
by  the  usual  route  via  Vordnesh,  Nicholas  Tolstoy,  who 
liked  to  do  things  his  own  way,  decided  that  they  would 
drive  first  to  Kazdn.  Here  they  stayed  a  week,  visiting  ac- 
quaintances, and  that  was  long  enough  for  Leo  to  fall  in 
love  with  a  young  lady  to  whom  his  shyness  prevented  his 
expressing  his  sentiments.  He  left  for  the  Caucasus  bearing 
his  secret  with  him,  and  we  hear  no  more  of  the  matter. 

From  Kazan  they  drove  to  Saratof,  where  they  hired 
a  boat  large  enough  to  take  their  travelling  carriage  on 
board,  and  with  a  crew  of  three  men,  made  their  way  down 
the  Volga  to  Astrakhan,  sometimes  rowing,  sometimes 
sailing,  and  sometimes  drifting  with  the  stream. 

The  scorn  of  luxury  and  social  distinctions  so  prominent 
in  Tolstoy''s  later  philosophy,  was  at  this  period  more  to 
the  taste  of  his  brother  Nicholas.  A  gentleman  drove 
past  them  in  Kazan  leaning  on  his  walking-stick  with 
ungloved  hands,  and  that  was  sufficient  to  cause  Leo  to 
speak  of  him  contemptuously,  whereupon  Nicholas,  in  his 
usual  tone  of  good-natured  irony,  wanted  to  know  why  a 
man  should  be  despised  for  not  wearing  gloves. 

From  Astrakhd.n  they  had  still  to  drive  some  two  hun- 

experienced,  for  and  against.  However,  I  came  out  victorious : 
that  is  to  say,  having  given  nothing  but  my  blessing  to  the  gay 
descendants  of  the  illustrious  Pharaohs.  Nicholas  considers  me  a 
very  agreeable  travelling  companion,  except  for  my  cleanliness.  He 
is  cross  because  he  says  I  change  my  linen  12  times  a  day.  I  also 
find  him  a  very  agreeable  companion,  except  for  his  dirtiness.  I  do 
not  know  which  of  us  is  right. 


CAUCASUS  61 

dred  and  seventy  miles  to  reach  Starogladovsk,  where 
Nicholas  Tolstoy's  battery  was  stationed.  The  whole 
journey  from  Moscow,  including  the  stay  in  Kazan,  took 
nearly  a  month. 

It  may  be  convenient  here  to  explain  why  the  Russians 
were  then  fighting  in  the  Caucasus.  Georgia,  situated  to 
the  south  of  the  Caucasian  Mountains,  had  been  voluntarily 
annexed  to  Russia  in  1799  to  escape  the  oppression  of 
Persia ;  and  it  therefore  became  politically  desirable  for 
Russia  to  subdue  the  tribes  that  separated  her  from  her 
newly  acquired  dependency.  During  the  first  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century  this  ta,sk  proceeded  very  slowly,  but  at 
the  time  we  are  speaking  of.  Prince  Baryatinsky,  in  com- 
mand of  the  Russian  forces  stationed  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  river  Terek,  which  flows  into  the  Caspian  Sea,  was 
undertaking  a  series  of  expeditions  against  the  hostile 
native  tribes.  Up  to  that  time  the  Russians  had  held  hardly 
anything  south  of  the  Terek  and  north  of  the  Caucasian 
Mountains,  except  their  own  forts  and  encampments ;  but 
in  less  than  another  decade,  Baryatinsky  had  captured 
Shdmyl  (the  famous  leader  who  so  long  defied  Russia) 
and  had  subdued  the  whole  country. 

Soon  after  the  brothers  Tolstoy  arrived  at  StarogMdovsk, 
Nicholas  was  ordered  to  the  fortified  camp  at  Goryatche- 
vddsk  ('  Hot  Springs '),  an  advanced  post  recently  estab- 
lished to  protect  the  invalids  who  availed  themselves  of 
those  mineral  waters. 

Here  Leo  Tolstoy  first  saw,  and  was  deeply  impressed  by, 
the  beauty  of  the  magnificent  mountain  range  which  he 
has  so  well  described  in  The  Cossacks.  In  July  1851  he 
wrote  to  his  Aunt  Tatiana  : 

*  Nicolas  est  parti  dans  une  semaine  apres  son  arrivee,  et  moi 
je  I'y  suivis,  de  sorte  que  nous  sommes  presque  depuis  trois 

*  Nicholas  left  within  a  week  of  his  arrival  and  I  have  followed  him, 
so  that  we  have  now  been  almost  three  weeks  here,  lodging  in  a  tent 


62  LEO  TOLSTOY 

semaines  ici  ou  nous  logeons  dans  une  tente.  Mais  comme  le 
temps  est  beau  et  que  je  me  fais  un  peu  a  ce  genre  de  vie,  je 
me  trouve  tres  bien.  Ici  il  y  a  des  coups  d'ceil  magnifiques,  k 
commencer  par  I'endroit  oil  sont  les  sources.  C'est  une  enorme 
montagne  de  pierres  Tune  sur  I'autre,  dont  les  unes  se  sont  de- 
tachees  et  forment  des  especes  de  grottes,  les  autres  restent 
suspendues  a  une  grande  hauteur.  Elles  sont  toutes  coupees 
par  les  courants  d'eau  chaude,  qui  tombent  avec  bruit  dans 
quelques  endroits  et  couvrent  surtout  le  matin  toute  la  partie 
elevee  de  la  montagne  d'une  vapeur  blanche  qui  se  detache 
continuellement  de  cette  eau  bouillante.  L'eau  est  tellement 
chaude  qu'on  cuit  dedans  les  oeufs  hard  en  trois  minutes.  Au 
milieu  de  ce  ravin  sur  le  torrent  principal  il  y  a  trois  moulins, 
I'un  au-dessus  de  I'autre,  qui  sont  construits  d'une  maniere 
toute  particuliere  et  tres  pittoresque.  Toute  la  journee  les 
femmes  tartares  ne  cessent  de  venir  au-dessus  et  au-dessous  de 
ces  moulins  pour  laver  leur  linge.  II  faut  vous  dire  qu'elles 
lavent  avec  les  pieds.  C'est  comme  une  fourmiliere  toujours 
remuante.  Les  femmes  sont  pour  la  plupart  belles  et  bien 
faites.  Les  costumes  des  femmes  orientales  malgre  leur  pau- 
vrete,  sont  gracieux.  Les  groupes  pittoresques  que  forment  les 
femmes,  joint  h  la  beaute  sauvage  de  I'endroit  fait  un  coup 

But  as  the  weather  is  fine  and  I  am  getting  accustomed  to  this  kind 
of  life,  I  feel  very  well.  There  are  magnificent  views  here,  beginning 
where  the  springs  are  situated.  It  is  an  enormous  mountain  of  rocks 
one  upon  another,  some  of  which  are  detached  and  form,  as  it  were, 
grottoes  ;  others  remain  suspended  at  a  great  height.  They  are  all 
intersected  by  torrents  of  hot  water  which  fall  noisily  in  certain  parts 
and,  especially  in  the  moi-ning,  cover  the  whole  upper  part  of  the 
mountain  with  a  white  vapour  which  this  boiling  water  continually 
gives  off.  The  water  is  so  hot  that  one  can  boil  eggs  hard  in  three 
minutes.  In  the  middle  of  this  ravine,  by  the  chief  torrent,  stand 
three  mills  one  above  the  other,  built  in  a  quite  peculiar  and  very 
picturesque  manner.  All  day  long,  above  and  below  these  mills, 
Tartar  women  come  unceasingly  to  wash  clothes.  I  should  mention 
that  they  wash  with  their  feet.  It  is  like  an  ant-hill,  always  in 
motion.  The  women,  for  the  most  part,  are  beautiful  and  well  formed. 
In  spite  of  their  poverty  the  costumes  of  Oriental  women  are  grace- 
ful. The  picturesque  groups  formed  by  the  women,  added  to  the 
savage  l)eaMty  of  the  place,  furnish  a  really  admirable  coup  d'aeil. 


CAUCASUS  63 

d'oeil  veritablement  admirable.  Je  reste  tres  souvent  des  heures 
a  admirer  ce  paysage.  Puis  le  coup  d'oeil  du  haut  de  la  mon- 
tagne  est  encore  plus  beau  et  tout  k  fait  dans  un  autre  genre. 
Mais  je  crains  de  vous  ennuyer  avec  mes  descriptions. 

Je  suis  tres  content  d'etre  aux  eaux  puisque  j'en  profite.  Je 
prends  des  bains  ferrugineux  et  je  ne  sens  plus  de  douleur  aux 
pieds. 

As  showing  how  hot  these  springs  were,  it  may  be 
mentioned  that  a  dog  belonging  to  Nicholas  tumbled  into 
the  water  and  was  scalded  to  death. 

The  officers  Tolstoy  met,  he  found  to  be  men  without 
education,  and  he  wrote :  '  At  first  many  things  in  this 
society  shocked  me,  but  I  have  accustomed  myself  to  them, 
without  however  attaching  myself  to  these  gentlemen.  I 
have  found  a  happy  mean,  in  which  there  is  neither  pride 
nor  familiarity.'  He  was  helped  by  the  fact  that  Nicholas 
was  popular  with  every  one ;  and,  by  adopting  the  plan  of 
having  vodka,  wine,  and  something  to  eat  always  ready  for 
those  who  dropped  in  to  see  him,  he  succeeded  in  keeping 
on  good  terms  with  these  men,  though  he  did  not  care 
to  know  them  intimately. 

The  following  extract  from  his  Diary  preserves  the 
record  of  the  rapidly  changing  moods  he  experienced  in 
those  days.      Soon  after  reaching  the  Caucasus  he  noted  : 

Stary  Urt,  11th  June  1851. 
Yesterday  I  hardly  slept  all  night.  Having  posted  up  my 
Diary,  I  prayed  to  God.  It  is  impossible  to  convey  the  sweet- 
ness of  the  feeling  I  experienced  during  my  prayer,  I  said 
the  prayers  I  usually  repeat  by  heart:  'Our  Father,'  'To  the 
Virgin/  etc.,  and  still  remained  in  prayer.  If  one  defines 
prayer  as  a  petition  or  as  thanksgiving,  then  I  did  not  pray. 
I   desired  something  supreme  and  good ;   but  what,  I  cannot 

I  very  often  remain  for  hours  admiriug  the  view.  Then  again,  in 
quite  a  different  vvay,  the  view  from  the  top  of  the  mountain  is  even 
more  beautiful.     But  I  fear  to  weary  you  with  my  descriptions. 

I  am  very  glad  to  be  at  the  springs,  for  I  benefit  by  them.  I  take 
ferruginous  baths,  and  no  longer  have  pain  iu  my  feet 


64  LEO  TOLSTOY 

express,  though  I  was  clearly  conscious  of  what  I  wanted.  I 
wished  to  merge  into  the  Universal  Being.  I  asked  Him  to 
pardon  my  crimes ;  yet  no,  I  did  not  ask  that,  for  I  felt  that 
if  He  had  given  me  this  blissful  moment.  He  had  pardoned 
me.  I  asked,  and  at  the  same  time  felt  that  I  had  nothing  to 
ask,  and  that  I  cannot  and  do  not  know  how  to  ask ;  I  thanked 
Him,  but  not  with  words  or  thoughts.  I  combined  in  one 
feeling  both  petition  and  gratitude.  Fear  quite  vanished.  I 
could  not  have  separated  any  one  emotion — faith,  hope  or  love 
— from  the  general  feeling.  No,  this  was  what  I  experienced 
yesterday :  it  was  love  of  God,  lofty  love,  uniting  in  itself  all 
that  is  good,  excluding  all  that  is  bad.  How  dreadful  it  was 
to  me  to  see  the  trivial  and  vicious  side  of  life  !  I  could  not 
understand  its  having  any  attraction  for  me.  How  I  asked  God 
with  a  pure  heart  to  accept  me  into  His  bosom  !  I  did  not  feel 
the  flesh.  .  .  .  But  no,  the  carnal,  trivial  side  again  asserted  itself, 
and  before  an  hour  had  passed  I  almost  consciously  heard  the 
voice  of  vice,  vanity,  and  the  empty  side  of  life  ;  I  knew  whence 
that  voice  came,  knew  it  had  ruined  my  bliss !  I  struggled 
against  it,  and  yet  yielded  to  it.  I  fell  asleep  thinking  of  fame 
and  of  women ;  but  it  was  not  my  fault,  I  could  not  help  it. 

Again,  on  2nd  July,  after  writing  down  reflections  on 
suffering  and  death,  he  concludes  : 

How  strong  I  seem  to  myself  to  be  against  all  that  can 
happen ;  how  firm  in  the  conviction  that  one  must  expect 
nothing  here  but  death ;  yet  a  moment  later  I  am  thinking 
with  pleasure  of  a  saddle  I  have  ordered,  on  which  I  shall  ride 
dressed  in  a  Cossack  cloak,  and  of  how  I  shall  carry  on  with 
the  Cossack  girls ;  and  I  fall  into  despair  because  my  left 
moustache  is  higher  than  my  right,  and  for  two  hours  I 
straighten  it  out  before  the  looking-glass. 

By  August  he  was  back  again  at  Staroglddovsk,  and, 
full  of  energy,  risked  his  life  as  a  volunteer  in  expeditions 
against  the  Circassians.  Having  met  Ilyd  Tolstoy,  an 
officer  and  a  relation,  he  was  introduced  by  him  to  the 
Commander-in-Chief,  General  Baryatinsky.  The  latter 
had  noticed  Leo  Tolstoy  during  one  of  the  expeditions, 


CAUCASUS  65 

and  on  making  his  acquaintance  complimented  him  on  his 
bravery  and  advised  him  to  enter  the  army.  Ilya  Tolstoy 
urged  the  same  advice,  and  Leo  accepted  it.  Towards  the 
end  of  October  he  went  a  tiresome  but  beautiful  seven- 
days'  journey  to  Tiflis,  where  he  had  to  pass  the  examina- 
tion qualifying  him  to  become  a  Junker  (Cadet).  From 
there  he  wrote  to  his  Aunt  Tatiana  a  letter  containing-  the 
first  intimation  of  the  vocation  that  was  ultimately  to 
make  mm  far  more  famous  than  Baryatinsky  himself : 

*  Vous  rappelez-vous,  bonne  tante,  un  conseil  que  vous 
m'avez  donne  jadis — celui  de  faire  des  romans  ?  Eh  bien  !  je 
suis  votre  conseil  et  les  occupations  dont  je  vous  parle  con- 
sistent a  faire  de  la  litterature.  Je  ne  sais  si  ce  que  j'ecris 
parattra  jamais  dans  le  monde,  mais  c'est  un  travail  qui 
m'amuse  et  dans  lequel  je  persevere  depuis  trop  longtemps 
pour  I'abandonner. 

For  two  months  he  lived  in  the  '  German '  suburb  of 
Tiflis,  paying  Rs.  5  a  month  (at  that  time  equal  to  about 
16s.)  for  his  two-roomed  lodging;  disturbed  by  no  one, 
writing  Childhood^  and  trying  to  enter  the  army — the 
main  obstacle  to  which  was  that,  as  usual,  he  found  him- 
self without  his  birth-certificate  and  other  documents.  He 
seldom  enjoyed  good  health  for  many  consecutive  months, 
and  during  his  stay  in  Tiflis  he  was  confined  to  the  house 
for  some  weeks  by  illness.  At  last,  on  23rd  December 
1851,  he  was  able  to  write  to  his  brother,  Sergius,  an- 
nouncing that  in  a  few  days  he  expected  to  receive  his 
appointment  as  Junker  in  the  4th  battery  of  artillery, 
and  that  on  the  day  he  received  it  he  would  set  out  for 
Starogladovsk,  and  from  there  go  on  campaign,  and  to 
the  best  of  his  ability  *  assist,  with  the  aid   of  a  cannon, 

*  Do  you  remember,  dear  Aunt,  the  advice  you  once  gave  me— to 
write  novels?  Well,  I  am  following  your  advice,  and  the  occupation 
I  mentioned  to  you  consists  in  producing  literature.  I  do  not  know 
if  what  I  am  writing  will  ever  be  published,  but  it  is  work  that 
amuses  me,  and  in  which  I  have  persevered  too  long  to  abandon  it. 

£ 


66  LEO  TOLSTOY 

in  destroying  the  predatory  and  turbulent  Asiatics."*     He 

goes  on  to  tell  of  hunting.      He  had   been  out  nine  times, 

and  had  killed  two  foxes  and  about  sixty  grey  hares.      He 

had  also  hunted  wild  boar  and  deer,  but  had  not  killed  any. 

In  the  same  letter  Tolstoy  mentions  Hadji  Mourat,  the 

hero  of  a  tale  he  wrote  more  than  fifty  years  later,  and  that 

has  been  put  aside  for  posthumous  publication.      He  says  : 

'  If  you  wish  to  show  off  with  news  from  the  Caucasus,  you 

may  recount  that  a  certain  Hadji  Mourat  (the   second  in 

importance  to  Shamyl  himself)  surrendered  a  few  days  ago 

to  the  Russian  Government.     He  was  the  leading  dare-devil 

and  "  brave "  in  all  Circassia,  but  was  led  to  commit  a 

mean  action.' 

A  little  later,  on   6th  January   1852,  we  find 
1852        .  ....  .   .  . 

him  again  in  Tiflis,  writing  to  Aunt  Tatiana 

*  Je  viens  de  recevoir  voire  lettre  du  24  Novembre  et  je 
vous  y  reponds  le  moment  meme  (comma  j'en  ai  pris  I'habi- 
tude).  Dernierement  je  vous  ecrivais  que  votre  lettre  m'a 
fait  pleurer  et  j'accusai  ma  maladie  de  cette  faiblesse.  J'ai  eu 
tort.  Toutes  vos  lettres  me  font  depuis  quelque  temps  le 
meme  effet.  J'ai  toujours  ete  Lyova-ryova  [Leo,  Cry-baby]. 
Avant  cette  faiblesse  rae  faisait  honte,  mais  les  larmes  que  je 
verse  en  pensant  k  vous  et  a  votre  amour  pour  nous,  sent 
tellement  deuces  que  je  les  laisse  couler,  sans  aucune  fausse- 
honte.  Votre  lettre  est  trop  pleine  de  tristesse  pour  qu'elle  ne 
produise  pas  sur  moi  le  meme  effet.  C'est  vous  qui  toujours 
m'avez  donne  des  conseils  et  qiioique  malheureusement  je  ne 

*  I  have  just  received  your  letter  of  24  November,  and  I  reply 
at  once  (as  I  have  formed  the  habit  of  doing-).  I  wrote  you  lately 
that  your  letter  made  me  cry,  and  I  blamed  my  illness  for  that  weak- 
ness. I  was  wrong.  For  some  time  past  all  your  letters  have  had 
the  same  effect  on  me.  I  always  was  Leo  Cry-baby.  Formerly  I  was 
ashamed  of  this  weakness,  but  the  tears  I  shed  when  thinking  of  you, 
and  of  your  love  for  us,  are  so  sweet  that  I  let  them  flow  without  any 
false  shame.  Your  letter  is  too  full  of  sadness  not  to  produce  the 
same  effect  on  me.  It  is  you  who  have  always  given  me  counsel, 
and  though  unfortunately  I  have  not  always  followed  it,  1  should 


CAUCASUS  67 

les  aie  pas  suivis  quelquefois,  je  voudrais  toute  ma  vie  n'agir 
que  d'apres  vos  avis.  Permettez-moi  pour  le  moment  de  vous 
dire  I'efFet  qu'a  produit  sur  moi  votre  lettre  et  les  idees  qui  me 
sont  venues  en  la  lisant.  Si  je  vous  parle  trop  franchement  je 
sais  que  vous  me  le  pardonnerez  en  favei./  de  I'amour  que  j'ai 
pour  vous.  En  disant  que  e'est  votre  tour  de  nous  quitter 
pour  aller  rejoindre  ceux  qui  ne  sont  plus  et  que  vous  avez  tant 
aimes,  en  disant  que  vous  demandez  a  Dieu  de  mettre  un  terme 
k  votre  existence  qui  vous  semble  si  insupportable  et  isolee, — 
pardon,  chere  tante,  mais  il  me  parait  qu'en  disant  cela  vous 
offensez  Dieu  et  moi  et  nous  tous  qui  vous  aimons  tant.  Vous 
demandez  a  Dieu  la  mort,  c.  a  dire  le  plus  grand  malheur  qui 
puisse  m'arriver  (ce  n'est  pas  une  phrase,  mais  Dieu  m'est 
temoin  que  les  deux  plus  grands  malheurs  qui  puissent  m'arriver 
ce  serait  votre  mort  ou  celle  de  Nicolas — les  deux  personnes 
que  j'aime  plus  que  moi-meme).  Que  resterait-il  pour  moi  si 
Dieu  exau9ait  votre  priere  }  Pour  faire  plaisir  k  qui,  voudrais- 
je  devenir  meilleur^  avoir  de  bonnes  qualites,  avoir  une  bonne 
reputation  dans  le  monde .''  Quand  je  fais  des  plans  de  bonheur 
pour  moi,  I'idee  que  vous  partagerez  et  jouirez  de  mon  bonheur 
m'est  toujours  presente.     Quand  je  fais  quelque  chose  de  bon, 

wish  all  my  life  to  act  only  in  accord  with  your  advice.  For  the 
moment,  permit  me  to  tell  you  the  effect  your  letter  has  had  on  me, 
and  the  thoughts  that  have  come  to  me  while  reading  it.  If  I  speak 
too  freely,  I  know  you  will  forgive  it,  on  account  of  the  love  I  have 
for  you.  By  saying  that  it  is  your  turn  to  leave  us,  to  rejoin  those 
who  are  no  more  and  whom  you  have  loved  so  much,  by  saying  that 
you  ask  God  to  set  a  limit  to  your  life  which  seems  to  you  so  insup- 
portable and  isolated — pardon  me,  dear  Aunt,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
in  so  saying  you  offend  God  and  me  and  all  of  us  who  love  you  so 
much.  You  ask  God  for  death,  that  is  to  say,  for  the  greatest  mis- 
fortune that  can  happen  to  me.  (This  is  not  a  phrase,  for  God  is 
my  witness  that  the  two  greatest  misfortunes  that  could  come  to  me 
would  be  your  death  and  that  of  Nicholas — the  two  persons  whom  I 
love  more  than  myself.)  What  would  be  left  to  me  if  God  granted 
your  prayer?  To  please  whom  should  I  then  wish  to  become  better, 
to  have  good  qualities  and  a  good  reputation  in  the  world .''  When 
I  make  plans  of  happiness  for  myself,  the  idea  tliat  you  will  share 
and  enjoy  my  happiness  is  always  present.  When  I  do  anything 
good,  I  am  satisfied  with  myself  because  1  know  you  will  be  satisfied 


68  LEO  TOLSTOY 

je  suis  content  de  moi-merae,  parce  que  je  sais  que  vous  serez 
contente  de  moi.  Quand  j'agis  mal,  ce  que  je  crains  le  plus — 
c'est  de  vous  faire  du  chagrin.  Votre  amour  est  tout  pour  moi, 
et  vous  demandez  k  Dieu  qu'il  nous  separe  !  Je  ne  puis  vous 
dire  le  sentiment  que  j'ai  pour  vous,  la  parole  ne  suffit  pas  pour 
vous  I'exprimer  et  je  crains  que  vous  ne  pensiez  que  j'exagere 
et  cependant  je  pleure  a  chaudes  larmes  en  vous  ecrivant. 

In  the  same  letter  he  tells  of  one  of  those  remarkable 
'  answers  to  prayer,'  instances  of  thought-transference,  or 
(if  the  reader  pleases)  simply  coincidences,  which  have 
played  so  great  a  part  in  the  history  of  all  religious  bodies. 

*  Aujourd'hui  il  m'est  arrive  une  de  ces  choses  qui  m'auraient 
fait  croire  en  Dieu,  si  je  n'y  croyais  deja  fermement  depuis 
quelque  temps. 

L'ete  a  Stary  Urt  tous  les  officiers  qui  y  etaient  ne  faisaient 
que  jouer  et  assez  gros  jeu.  Comme  en  vivant  au  camp  il  est 
impossible  de  ne  pas  se  voirsouvent,  j'ai  tres  souvent  assiste  au 
jeu  et  malgre  les  instances  qu'on  me  faisait  j'ai  tenu  bon 
pendant  un  mois ;  mais  un  beau  jour  en  plaisantant,  j'ai  mis  un 
petit  enjeu,  j'ai  perdu,  j'ai  recommence,  j'ai  encore  perdu,  la 
chance  en  etait  mauvaise,  la  passion  du  jeu  s'est  reveillee  et  en 
deux  jours  j'ai  perdu  tout  ce  que  j'avais  d'argent  et  celui  que 
Nicolas  m'a  donne  (a  peu  pres  250  r.  argent)  et  par  dessus  cela 

with  me.  When  I  act  badly,  what  I  most  fear  is  to  cause  you 
grief.  Your  love  is  everything  to  me,  and  you  ask  God  to  separate 
us  !  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  feel  for  you  ;  words  do  not  suffice  to 
express  it.  I  fear  lest  you  should  think  I  exaggerate,  and  yet  I  shed 
hot  tears  while  writing  to  you. 

*  To-day  one  of  those  things  happened  to  me  which  would  have 
made  me  believe  in  God,  if  I  had  not  for  some  time  past  firmly 
believed  in  Him. 

In  summer,  at  Stary  Urt,  all  the  officers  who  were  there  did  no- 
thing but  play,  and  play  rather  high.  As,  living  in  camp,  one  has  to 
meet  frequently,  I  was  very  often  present  at  play,  but  in  spite  of 
persuasions  I  kept  steady  for  a  month  ;  but  one  fine  day  for  fun  I 
put  down  a  small  stake.  I  lost,  staked  again,  and  lost  again.  I  was 
in  bad  luck  ;  the  passion  for  play  reawoke  in  me,  and  in  two  days  I 
had  lost  all  the  money  I  had,  and  what  Nicholas  gave  me  (about 


CAUCASUS  69 

encore  500  r.  argent  pour  lequel  j'ai  donne  une  lettre  de  change 
payable  au  mois  de  Janvier  1852. 

II  faiit  vous  dire  que  pres  du  camp  il  y  a  un  Aotil  qu'habitent 
les  Tchitcheniens.  Un  jeune  gar9on  (Tchitchenien)  Sado 
venait  au  camp  et  jouait,  mais  comme  il  ne  savait  pas  compter 
et  inscrire  il  y  avait  des  chenapans  qui  le  trichaient.  Je  n'ai 
jamais  voulu  jouer  pour  cette  raison  contre  Sado,  et  meme  je 
lui  ai  dit  qu'il  ne  fallait  pas  qu'il  jouat^  parce  qu'on  le  trompait 
et  je  me  suis  propose  de  jouer  pour  lui  par  procuration.  II  m'a 
ete  tres  reconnaissant  pour  ceci  et  m'a  fait  cadeau  d'une  bourse. 
Comme  c'est  I'usage  de  cette  nation  de  se  faire  des  cadeaux 
mutuels,  je  lui  ai  donne  un  miserable  fusil  que  j'avais  achete 
pour  8  rb.  II  faut  vous  dire  que  pour  devenir  Koundk,  ce  qui 
veut  dire  ami,  11  est  d'usage  de  se  faire  des  cadeaux^  et  puis  de 
manger  dans  la  maison  du  Koiindk.  Apres  cela,  d'apres  I'ancien 
usage  de  ces  peuples  (qui  n'existe  presque  plus  que  par  tradi- 
tion) on  devient  ami  a  la  vie  et  a  la  mort,  c.a  d.  que  si  je  lui 
demande  tout  son  argent,  ou  sa  femme^  ou  ses  armes,  ou  tout 
ce  qu'il  a  de  plus  precieux,  il  doit  me  les  donner,  et  moi  aussi 
je  ne  dois  rien  lui  refuser.     Sado  m'a  engage  de  venir  cliez  lui 


Rs.  250)  and  another  Rs.  500  besides,  for  which  1  gave  a  note-of- 
hand  payable  iu  January  1852. 

I  should  tell  you  that  near  the  camp  there  is  an  Aoul  [native 
village]  inhabited  by  Circassians.  A  young  fellow  (a  Circassian) 
named  Sado  used  to  come  to  the  camp  and  play ;  but  as  he  could 
neither  reckon  nor  write,  there  were  scamps  who  cheated  him.  For 
that  reason  I  never  wished  to  play  against  Sado,  and  I  even  told  him 
that  he  ought  not  to  play,  because  he  was  being  cheated ;  and  I 
offered  to  play  for  him.  He  was  very  grateful  to  me  for  this,  and 
presented  me  with  a  purse  ;  and  as  it  is  the  custom  of  that  nation  to 
exchange  presents,  I  gave  him  a  wretched  gun  I  had  bought  for 
Rs.  8.  I  should  tell  you  that  to  become  a  Koundk,  that  is  to  say,  a 
friend,  it  is  customary  to  exchange  presents,  and  afterwards  to  eat  in 
the  house  of  one's  Koundk.  After  that,  according  to  the  ancient 
custom  of  these  peoples  (which  hardly  exists  now  except  as  a  tradi- 
tion) you  become  friends  for  life  and  death  :  that  is  to  say,  if  I  asked 
of  him  all  his  money,  or  his  wife,  or  his  weapons,  or  all  the  most 
precious  things  he  has,  he  must  give  them  to  me,  and  1  also  must 
not  refuse  him  anything.     Sado  made  me  promise  to  come  to  hia 


70  LEO  TOLSTOY 

et  d'etre  Koundk.  J'y  siiis  alle.  Apr6s  m'avoir  regale  a  leur 
manierCj  il  m'a  propose  de  choisir  dans  sa  maison  tout  ce  que  je 
voudrais — ses  armes,  son  cheval  .  ,  .  tout.  J'ai  voulu  choisir 
ce  qu'il  y  avait  de  moins  cher  et  j'ai  pris  une  bride  de  cheval 
montee  en  argent,  mais  il  m'a  dit  que  je  I'ofFensais  et  m'a 
oblige  de  prendre  une  sword  qui  vaut  au  moins  100  r.  arg. 

Son  p^re  est  un  homme  assez  riche,  mais  qui  a  son  argent 
enterre  et  ne  donne  pas  le  sou  a  son  fils.  Le  fils  pour  avoir  de 
I'argent  va  voler  chez  I'ennemi  des  chevaux,  des  vaches;  quel- 
quefois  il  expose  20  fois  sa  vie  pour  voler  une  chose  qui  ne  vaut 
pas  10  r.,  mais  ce  n'est  pas  par  cupidite  qu'il  le  fait,  mais  par 
genre.  Le  plus  grand  voleur  est  tres  estime  et  on  I'appelle 
'  Dshigit,'  un  Brave.  Tantot  Sado  a  1000  r.  arg.,  tantot  pas  le 
sou.  Apres  une  visite  chez  lui,  je  lui  ai  fait  cadeau  de  la 
montre  d'argent  de  Nicolas  et  nous  sommes  devenus  les  plus 
grands  amis  du  monde.  Plusieurs  fois  il  m'a  prouve  son 
devouement  en  s'exposant  k  des  dangers  pour  moi,  mais 
ceci  pour  lui  n'est  rien — c'est  devenu  une  habitude  et  un 
plaisir. 

Quand  je  suis  parti  de  Stary  Urt  et  que  Nicolas  y  est  reste, 
Sado  venait  chez  lui  tous  les  jours  et  disait  qu'il  ne  savait  que 

house  and  become  his  Kounak.  I  went.  After  having  regaled  me 
in  their  fashion,  he  asked  me  to  choose  anything  in  his  house  that  I 
liked  :  his  weapons,  his  horse — anything.  I  wished  to  choose  what 
was  of  least  value,  and  took  a  horse's  bridle  with  silver  mountings ; 
but  he  said  I  was  offending  him^  and  obliged  me  to  take  a  sword  worth 
at  least  Rs.  100. 

His  father  is  a  rather  rich  man,  but  keeps  his  money  buried,  and 
does  not  give  his  son  a  cent.  The  son,  to  have  money,  goes  and 
steals  horses  and  cows  from  the  enemy.  Sometimes  he  risks  his  life 
20  times  to  steal  something  not  worth  Rs.  10,  but  he  does  it  not 
from  greed,  but  because  it  is  'the  thing.'  The  greatest  robber  is 
most  esteemed,  and  is  called  Dzhigit,  'a  Brave.'  Sometimes  Sado 
has  Rs.  1000,  sometimes  not  a  cent.  After  one  visit  to  him,  I  gave 
him  Nicholas's  silver  watch,  and  we  became  the  greatest  fi-iends  in 
the  world.  He  has  proved  his  devotion  several  times  by  exposing 
himself  to  danger  for  my  sake;  but  that  is  nothing  to  him — it  has 
become  a  habit  and  a  pleasure. 

When  I  left  Stary  Urt  and  Nicholas  remained  there,  Sado  used  to 
go  to  him  every  day,  saying  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  get  on 


CAUCASUS  71 

devenir  sans  moi  et  qu'il  s'ennuyait  terriblement.  Par  une 
lettre  je  faisais  connaitre  k  Nicolas^  que  mon  cheval  etant 
malade^  je  le  priais  de  m'en  trouver  un  k  Stai-y  Urt;  Sado 
ayant  appris  cela  n'eut  rien  de  plus  presse  que  de  venir  chez 
moi  et  de  me  domier  son  cheval,  malgre  tout  ce  que  j'ai  pu 
faire  pour  refuser. 

Apres  la  betise  que  j'ai  fait  de  jouer  a  Stary  Urt,  je  n'ai  plus 
repris  les  cartes  en  mains,  et  je  faisais  continuellement  la 
morale  a  Sado  qui  a  la  passion  du  jeu  et  quoiqu'il  ne  connaisse 
pas  le  jeu,  a  toujours  un  bonheur  etonnant.  Hier  soir  je  me  suis 
occupe  a  penser  k  mes  affaires  pecuniaires,  a  mes  dettes;  je 
pensais  comment  je  ferais  pour  les  payer.  Ayant  longtemps 
pense  k  ces  choses,  j'ai  vu  que  si  je  ne  depense  pas  trop  d'argent, 
toutes  mes  dettes  ne  m'embarrasseront  pas  et  pourront  petit  k 
petit  etre  payees  dans  2  ou  3  ans ;  mais  les  500  rbs.,  que  je 
devais  payer  ce  mois,  me  mettaient  au  desespoir.  II  m'etait 
impossible  de  les  payer  et  pour  le  moment  ils  m'embarrassaient 
beaucoup  plus  que  ne  I'avaient  fait  autrefois  les  4000  d'Ogaryeff. 
Cette  betise  d' avoir  fait  les  dettes  que  j'avais  en  Russie  et  de 
venir  en  faire  de  nouvelles  ici  me  mettait  au  desespoir.  Le 
soir  en  faisant  ma  priei'e,  j'ai  prie  Dieu  qu'il  me  tire  de  cette 
desagreable  position  et  avec  beaucoup  de  ferveur.     '  Mais  com- 

without  me,  and  that  he  felt  terribly  dull.  I  wrote  to  Nicholas 
saying  that  as  my  horse  was  ill  I  begged  him  to  find  me  one  at  Stary 
Urt.  Sado  having  learnt  this,  must  needs  come  to  me  and  give  me 
his  horse,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do  to  refuse  it. 

After  the  folly  I  committed  in  playing  at  Stary  Urt,  I  did  not  touch 
a  card  again,  and  I  was  always  lecturing  Sado,  who  is  devoted  to 
gambling  and,  though  he  does  not  know  how  to  play,  always  has 
astonishing  luck.  Yesterday  evening  I  was  engaged  in  considering 
my  money  matters  and  my  debts,  and  thinking  how  I  was  to  pay 
them.  Having  long  thought  of  these  things,  I  saw  that  if  I  do  not 
spend  too  much,  all  my  debts  will  not  embarrass  me,  but  can  be  paid 
off  little  by  little  in  2  or  3  years ;  but  the  Rs.  600  that  I  had  to  pay 
this  month,  threw  me  into  despair.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to 
pay  it,  and  at  the  moment  it  embarrassed  me  much  more  than  did 
previously  the  4000  of  Ogaryof  The  stupidity,  after  having  contracted 
those  debts  in  Russia,  of  coming  here  and  adding  fresh  ones,  made 
me  despair.  Tn  the  evening  while  saying  my  prayers,  I  asked  God — 
and  very  fervently — to  get  me  out  of  this  disagreeable  scrape.     *  But 


72  LEO  TOLSTOY 

raent  est-ce  que  je  puis  me  tirer  de  cette  affaire  ?'  pensai-je  en 
me  couchant.  '  II  ne  peut  rien  arriver  qui  me  donne  la  possi- 
bilite  d'acquitter  cette  dette.'  Je  me  representais  deja  tous 
les  desagrements  que  j'avais  h.  essuyer  k  cause  de  cela:  how 
when  he  presents  the  note  for  collection,  the  authorities  will 
demand  an  explanation  as  to  why  I  did  not  pay,  etc.  '  Lord, 
help  me  ! '  said  I,  and  fell  asleep. 

Le  lendemain  je  recjois  une  lettre  de  Nicolas  a  laquelle  etait 
jointe  la  votre  et  pliisieurs  autres — il  ra'ecrit : 

The  other  day  Sado  came  to  see  me.  He  has  won  your  notes- 
of-hand  from  Knorring,  and  has  brought  them  to  me.  He  was 
so  pleased  to  have  won  them,  and  asked  me  so  often, '  What  do 
you  think  .-*  Will  your  brother  be  glad  that  I  have  done  this  ? ' 
that  I  have  grown  very  fond  of  him.  That  man  is  really 
attached  to  you. 

N' est-ce  pas  etonnant  que  de  voir  ses  voeux  aussi  exauces 
le  lendemain  meme  ?  C.  a  d.,  qu'il  n'y  a  rien  d'aussi  etonnant 
que  la  bonte  divine  pour  un  etre  qui  la  raerite  si  peu  que  moi. 
Et  n'est-ce  pas  que  le  trait  de  devouement  de  Sado  est  admi- 
rable ?  II  sait  que  j'ai  un  frere  Serge,  qui  aime  les  chevaux  et 
comme  je  lui  ai  promis  de  le  prendre  en  Russie  quand  j'y  irai,  il 
m'a  dit,  que  dut-il  lui  en  couter  100  fois  la  vie,  il  volera  le 
meilleur  cheval  qu'il  y  ait  dans  les  raontagnes,  et  qu'il  le  lui 
amenera. 

how  can  I  get  out  of  this  scrape  ? '  thought  I,  as  I  lay  down.  '  No- 
thing can  happen  that  will  make  it  possible  for  me  to  meet  that  debt.' 
I  already  pictured  to  myself  all  the  unpleasantnesses  I  should  have  to 
go  through  because  of  it.  (See  English  sentence  in  the  French  text, 
above. ) 

Next  day  I  received  a  letter  from  Nicholas  enclosing  yours  and 
several  others.  He  wrote  me  :  (See  English  sentence  in  the  French 
text,  above). 

Is  it  not  astonishing  to  see  one's  petitions  granted  like  this  the  very 
next  day?  That  is  to  say,  there  is  nothing  so  wonderful  as  the  divine 
goodness  to  one  who  merits  it  so  little  as  I.  And  is  not  the  trait  of 
Sado's  devotion  admirable  ?  He  knows  I  have  a  brother  Sergius,  who 
loves  horses,  and  as  I  have  promised  to  take  him  to  Russia  when 
I  go,  he  tells  me  that,  if  it  costs  liim  his  life  100  times  over,  he 
will  steal  the  best  horse  to  be  found  in  the  mountains,  and  will  take 
it  to  him. 


CAUCASUS  73 

Faites,  je  vous  prie,  acheter  a  Toiila  un  6-barrelled  pistol  et 
un  musical- box,  si  cela  ne  coiite  pas  trop  cher.  Ce  sont  des 
choses  qui  lui  feront  beaucoup  de  plaisir. 

In  explanation  of  this  letter  one  has  to  mention  that 
S£do  was  a  '  peaceful '  Circassian,  that  is,  one  friendly 
to  Russia  (though  his  tribe  in  general  were  hostile),  and 
further,  that  the  passages  printed  in  English  in  the  midst 
of  the  French  text,  are  in  the  original  written  in  Russian. 

A  few  days  later  we  find  Tolstoy  on  his  way  back  to 
Starogladovsk,  stopping  (probably  for  post-horses)  at  the 
post-station  Mozddk,  and  again  writing  his  aunt  a  long 
letter  in  which  he  says  : 

*  La  religion  et  rexperience  que  j'ai  de  la  vie  (quelque 
petite  qu'elle  soit)  m'ont  appris  que  la  vie  est  une  epreuve. 
Dans  moi  elle  est  plus  qu'une  epreuve,  c'est  encore  Texpiation 
de  mes  fautes. 

J'ai  dans  I'idee  que  I'idee  si  frivole  que  j'ai  eu  d'aller  faire  un 
voyage  au  Caucase — est  une  idee  qui  m'a  ete  inspiree  d'en  haut. 
C'est  la  main  de  Dieu  qui  m'a  guide — ^je  ne  cesse  de  Ten  re- 
mercier.  Je  sens  que  je  suis  devenu  meilleur  ici  (et  ce  n'est 
pas  beaucoup  dire  puisque  j'ai  ete  tres  mauvais)  et  je  suis 
fermeraent  persuade  que  tout  ce  qui  peut  m'arriver  ici  ne  sera 
que  pour  mon  bien,  puisque  c'est  Dieu  lui-meme  qui  Ta  voulu 
ainsi.      Peut-etre  c'est  une  idee  bien  bardie,  neanmoins  j'ai 


Please,  have  a  6-barrelled  pistol  bought  in  Toula  and  sent  to  me, 
and  also  a  musical-box,  if  that  does  not  cost  too  much.  These  are 
things  which  will  give  him  much  pleasure. 

*  Religion  and  the  experience  I  have  of  life  (however  small  it  may 
be)  have  taught  me  that  life  is  a  trial.  In  my  case  it  is  more  than  a 
trial,  it  is  also  an  expiation  of  my  faults. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  frivolous  idea  I  had  of  journeying  to  the 
Caucasus  was  an  idea  with  which  I  was  inspired  from  above.  It  is 
the  hand  of  God  that  has  guided  me — I  do  not  cease  to  thank  Him 
for  it.  I  feel  that  I  have  become  better  here  (and  that  is  not  saying 
much,  for  I  was  very  bad)  and  I  am  firmly  persuaded  that  all  that  can 
happen  to  me  here  can  only  be  for  my  good,  since  it  is  God  himself 
who  has  90  willed  it.     Perhaps  it  is  a  very  audacious  notion  ;  never- 


74  LEO  TOLSTOY 

cette  conviction.  C'est  pour  cela  que  je  supporte  les  fatigues 
et  les  privations  physiques  dont  je  parle  (ce  ne  sont  pas  des 
privations  physiques — il  n'y  en  a  pas  pour  un  gar9on  de  23 
ans  qui  se  porte  bien)  sans  les  ressentir,  meme  avec  une  espece 
de  plaisir  en  pensant  au  bonheur  qui  m'attend. 

Voilk  comment  je  le  represente  : 

Apres  un  nombre  indetermine  d'annees,  ni  jeune^  ni  vieux, 
je  suis  a  Yasnaya;  mes  affaires  sont  en  ordre,  je  n'ai  pas  d'in- 
quietudeSj  ni  de  tracasseries.  Vous  habitez  Yasnaya  aussi. 
Vous  avez  un  peu  vieillie^,  mais  etes  encore  fraiche  et  bien  por- 
tante.  Nous  menons  la  vie  que  nous  avons  menee, — je  tra- 
vaille  le  matin,  mais  nous  nous  voyons  presque  toute  la  journee. 
Nous  dinons.  Le  soir  je  fais  une  lecture  qui  ne  vous  ennuie 
pas,  puis  nous  causons — moi  je  vous  raconte  ma  vie  au  Caucase, 
vous  me  parlez  de  vos  souvenirs — de  mon  pere,  de  ma  mere, 
vous  me  contez  des  'terrible  tales '  que  jadis  nous  ecoutions  les 
yeux  effrayes  et  la  bouche  beante.  Nous  nous  rappelons  les 
personnes  qui  nous  ont  ete  cheres  et  qui  ne  sont  plus  ;  vous 
pleurerez,  j'en  ferai  de  meme,  mais  ces  larmes  seront  douces  ; 
nous  causerons  des  freres  qui  viendront  nous  voir  de  temps  en 
temps,   de   la  chere    Marie   qui   passera   aussi   quelques   mois 


theless  it  is  my  conviction.  That  is  why  I  bear  the  fatigues  and  the 
physical  privations  I  have  mentioned  (they  are  not  physical  privations : 
there  are  none  for  a  fellow  of  23  who  is  in  good  health)  without 
resenting  them,  and  even  with  a  kind  of  pleasure  in  thinking  of  the 
happiness  that  awaits  me. 

This  is  how  I  picture  it : 

After  an  indefinite  number  of  years,  neither  j'oung  nor  old,  I  am  at 
Yasnaya  ;  my  aflFairs  are  in  order,  I  have  no  anxieties  or  worries. 
You  also  live  at  Yasnaya.  You  have  aged  a  little,  but  you  are  still 
fresh  and  in  good  health.  We  lead  the  life  we  used  to  lead.  I  work 
in  the  morning,  but  we  see  one  another  almost  all  day.  We  have 
dinner.  In  the  evening  I  read  aloud  something  which  does  not  weary 
you,  and  then  we  talk.  I  tell  you  of  my  life  in  the  Caucasus,  you 
tell  me  your  recollections  of  my  father  and  my  mother ;  and  you 
tell  me  the  '  terrible  tales '  we  used  to  listen  to  with  frightened  eyes 
and  open  mouths.  We  remind  each  other  of  those  who  were  dear  to 
us  and  who  are  now  no  more  ;  you  will  weep,  I  shall  do  the  same, 
but  those  tears  will  be  sweet;  we  shall  talk  about  my  brothers, 
who  will  come  to  see  us  from  time  to  time ;  of  dear  Marie,  who 


CAUCASUS  75 

de  I'annee  a  Yasnaya  qu'elle  aime  tant,  avec  tous  ses  enfants. 
Nous  n'aurons  point  de  connaissances — personne  ne  viendra 
nous  ennuyer  et  faire  des  commerages.  C'est  un  beau  reve, 
mais  ce  n'est  pas  encore  tout  ce  que  je  me  permets  de  rever. — 
Je  suis  marie — ma  femme  est  une  personne  douce,  bonne, 
aimante ;  elle  a  pour  vous  le  meme  amour  que  moi ;  nous  avons 
des  enfants  qui  vous  appellent  grandmaman ;  vous  habitez  la 
grande  maison  en  haut,  la  meme  chambre  que  jadis  habitait 
grandmaman.  Toute  la  maison  est  dans  le  meme  ordre  qu'elle 
a  ete  du  temps  de  papa  et  nous  recommengons  la  m^me  vie, 
seulement  en  changeant  de  role ;  vous  prenez  le  role  de  grand- 
maman, mais  vous  etes  encore  meilleure  ;  moi  le  role  de  papa, 
mais  je  desespere  de  jamais  le  meriter ;  ma  femme  celui  de 
maman,  les  enfants  le  notre ;  Marie  le  role  des  deux  tantes, 
leurs  malheurs  exceptes.  .  .  .  Mais  il  manquera  un  personnage 
pour  prendre  le  role  que  vous  avez  joue  dans  notre  famille ; 
jamais  il  ne  se  trouvera  une  ame  aussi  belle,  aussi  aimante  que  la 
votre.  Vous  n'avez  pas  de  successeur.  II  yaura  trois  nouveaux 
personnages,  qui  paraitront  de  temps  en  temps  sur  la  sc^ne — 
les  freres,  surtout  I'un  qui  sera  souvent  avec  nous  :  Nicolas — 
vieux  gar9on,  chauve,  retire  du  service,  toujours  aussi  bon,  aussi 
noble. 


with  all  her  children  will  also  spend  some  months  of  the  year  at 
Yasnaya,  which  she  loves  so  much.  We  shall  have  no  acquaint- 
ances— no  one  will  come  to  weary  us  and  carry  tales.  It  is  a 
beautiful  dream,  but  it  is  not  all  that  I  let  myself  dream. — I  am 
married.  My  wife  is  a  gentle  creature,  kind  and  affectionate ;  she 
has  the  same  love  for  you  as  I  have.  We  have  children  who  call  you 
Grandmamma ;  you  live  upstairs  iu  the  big  house,  in  what  used  to  be 
Grandmamma's  room.  The  whole  house  is  as  it  was  in  Papa's  time, 
and  we  recommence  the  same  life,  only  changing  our  roles.  You  take 
the  role  of  Grandmamma,  but  you  are  still  better;  I  take  Papa's 
place,  though  I  despair  of  ever  deserving  it ;  my  wife,  that  of 
Mamma ;  the  children  take  ours  ;  Marie,  that  of  the  two  aunts  (ex- 
cepting their  misfortunes)  .  .  .  but  some  one  will  be  lacking  to  take 
the  part  you  played  in  our  family — never  will  any  one  be  found  with 
a  soul  so  beautiful,  so  loving,  as  yours.  You  have  no  successor. 
There  will  be  three  new  characters  who  will  appear  from  time  to  time 
on  the  scene — the  brothers,  especially  the  one  who  will  often  be 
with  us,  Nicholas :  an  old   bachelor,  bald,  retired  from  service,  as 


76  LEO  TOLSTOY 

I  imagine  how  he  will,  as  of  old,  tell  the  children  fairy  tales 
of  his  own  invention,  and  how  they  will  kiss  his  greasy  hands 
(but  which  are  worthy  of  it),  how  he  will  play  with  them,  how 
my  wife  will  bustle  about  to  get  him  his  favourite  dishes,  how 
he  and  I  will  recall  our  common  memories  of  days  long  past, 
how  you  will  sit  in  your  accustomed  place  and  listen  to  us  with 
pleasure ;  how,  as  of  yore,  you  will  call  us,  old  men,  '  Lyo- 
votchka'  and  'Nikolenka/  and  will  scold  me  for  eating  with 
my  fingers,  and  him  for  not  having  clean  hands. 

Si  on  me  faisait  empereur  de  Russie,  si  on  me  donnait  le 
Perou,  en  un  mot  si  una  fee  venait  avec  sa  baguette  me 
demander  ce  que  je  desire — la  main  sur  la  conscience,  je  repon- 
drais  que  je  desire  seulement  que  ce  reve  puisse  devenir  une 
realite. 

He  returned  to  Starogladovsk  a  Junker,  and  in  February 
took  part  in  an  expedition  as  a  non-coinmissioned  artillery 
officer,  and  nearl;-  received  a  St.  George's  Cross  for  bravery, 
but  lost  it  because,  once  again,  he  had  not  his  documents 
in  order. 

Writing  to  his  Aunt  Tatiana  some  months  later  (June 
1852),  he  says  : 

*  Pendant  cette  expedition,  j'ai  eu  I'occasion  d'etre  deux 
fois  presente  a  la  croix  de  St.  Georges  et  je  n'ai  pas  pu  la 
recevoir  a  cause  du  retard  de  quelques  jours  de  ce  maudit 
papier.  J'ai  ete  presente  pour  la  journee  du  18  Fevrier  (ma 
fete),  mais  on  a  ete  oblige  de  refuser  a  cause  du  manque  de  ce 

good  and  noble  as  ever.     (See  paragraph  in  English  in  the  French 
text,  above.) 

If  they  made  me  Emperor  of  Russia,  or  gave  me  Peru  :  in  a  word, 
if  a  fairy  came  with  her  wand  asking  me  what  I  wished  for — my  hand 
on  my  conscience,  I  should  reply  that  I  only  wish  that  this  dream 
may  become  a  reality. 

*  During  this  expedition,  I  twice  had  the  chance  of  being  pre- 
sented to  receive  a  St.  George's  Cross,  and  I  was  prevented  from 
receiving  it  by  that  confounded  paper  being  a  few  days  late.  I  was 
nominated  to  receive  it  on  18  February  (my  name's  day),  but  it  had 
to  be  refused  me  for  want  of  that  paper      The  list  of  nominations  was 


CAUCASUS  77 

papier.  La  liste  des  presentations  partit  le  19,  le  20  le  papier 
etait  arrive.  Je  vous  avoue  franchement  que  de  tous  les  hon- 
neurs  militaires  c'est  cette  seule  petite  croix  que  j'ai  eu  la 
vanite  d'arabitionner. 


On  a  second  occasion  he  had  the  refusal  of  the  coveted 
cross,  but  his  Colonel  pointed  out  to  him  that  besides 
being  sometimes  given  to  Junkers  favoured  by  their  officers, 
these  crosses  were  also,  and  more  usually,  granted  to  old 
and  deserving  privates,  whom  they  entitled  to  a  life  pen- 
sion ;  and  that  if  Tolstoy  would  forego  the  one  intended 
for  him,  it  would  be  given  to  a  veteran  who  deserved  it, 
and  to  whom  it  would  secure  a  subsistence  for  his  old  age. 
Tolstoy,  to  his  honour  be  it  said,  renounced  the  coveted 
decoration.  He  had  a  third  chance  of  securing  it  later  on, 
but  this  time,  absorbed  in  playing  chess  till  late  at  night, 
he  omitted  to  go  on  duty,  and  the  Commander  of  the 
Division  noticing  his  absence,  placed  him  under  arrest 
and  cancelled  the  award  which  had  been  already  made 
in  his  favour.  Chess,  I  may  here  mention,  has  always 
been  a  favourite  game  of  Tolstoy's.  He  has  never 
studied  the  game  from  books,  but  has  played  much  and 
plays  ingeniously  and  well. 

The  kind  of  warfare  in  which  he  was  now  engaged,  is 
well  described  in  The  Raid  and  The  Wood- Felling.  A 
detachment  would  set  out  to  seize  a  Tartar  village,  make 
a  clearing  in  a  forest,  or  capture  cattle.  It  would  ex- 
change cannon-  and  rifle-shots  with  Tartar  skirmishers,  and 
would  lose  perhaps  half  a  dozen  men  killed  or  wounded 
before  accomplishing  its  object ;  but  the  more  serious  part 
of  the  work  came  when  the  expedition  returned  to  the 
fortified  camp  from  which  it  had  started.  As  soon  as 
the  retreat  commenced,  Tartar  sharpshooters  would  swarm 

sent  oflF  on  the  19th,  the  paper  came  on  the  20th.  I  frankly  confess 
that  of  all  military  honours,  that  little  cross  is  the  only  one  which 
I  have  had  the  vanity  to  desire. 


78  LEO  TOLSTOY 

out,  trying  to  cut  off  stragglers  and  inflicting  as  much 
damage  as  possible.  Even  after  the  Russians  were  beyond 
rifle-shot,  a  chance  ball  from  a  Tartar  cannon  might  reach 
them  within  sight  of  their  own  quarters. 

To  see  a  single  man  one  has  known  well,  struck  down 
by  a  deadly  bullet,  may  impress  an  observer  as  vividly 
as  the  myriad  corpses  of  a  great  battlefield ;  and  in 
Tolstoy's  earliest  war-sketches  one  feels  the  note  of  horror 
at  war  quite  as  strongly  as  when,  later  on,  he  described 
far  bloodier  struggles  at  Sevastopol. 

When  not  on  campaign,  Tolstoy  was  generally  stationed 
at  the  Cossack  village  of  Starogladovsk,  where  he  lived 
more  or  less  the  life  vividly  described  in  The  Cossacks. 
The  Grebensky  Cossacks  located  there  were  descended  from 
Russian  Dissenters  (Old-Believers)  who  had  fled  from  the 
persecution  of  former  Tsars  and  had  settled  among  the 
Mohammedan  Circassians  near  the  river  Terek.  They 
had  retained  the  purity  of  their  Russian  speech,  and  re- 
mained nominally  Christians,  but  had  intermarried  with 
the  natives  and  adopted  many  of  their  manners  and 
customs.  Love  of  freedom,  idleness,  robbery,  hunting, 
and  war  were  their  most  prominent  characteristics.  They 
considered  themselves  altogether  superior  both  to  the  semi- 
savage  Mohammedan  natives  and  to  the  tame,  disciplined 
Russians.  Drunkenness  was  not  so  much  a  weakness  of 
these  men  as  '  a  tribal  rite,  to  abandon  which  would  have 
been  considered  as  an  act  of  apostasy.'  The  work  was 
done  by  the  women,  or  by  hired  Nogai-Tartar  labourers. 
The  women  were  physically  better  developed  than  the  men, 
and  were  celebrated  for  their  beauty,  combining  the  purest 
type  of  Circassian  features  with  the  powerful  build  of 
Northern  women.  In  their  relations  with  men,  especially 
before  marriage,  they  enjoyed  absolute  freedom. 

There  was  much  that  attracted  Tolstoy  in  the  simple 
life  of  these  people  :  their  frankness,  their  skill  in  hunting, 
their  contempt  for  all  that  is  artificial  or  weak,  and  their 


CAUCASUS  79 

freedom  from  the  moral  struggles  that  tormented  him. 
With  one  beautiful  girl — Mariana — he  fell  deeply  in  love, 
but  she  remained  indifferent  to  the  attentions  of  a  man  who 
was  inferior  in  the  arts  of  war  and  hunting  to  some  of  the 
young  men  of  her  own  tribe.  His  courtship  failed  (as  he 
says  of  his  hero  in  The  Cossacks)  because  he  could  not, 
like  a  dashing  young  Cossack,  *  steal  herds,  get  drunk  on 
Tchikir  wine,  troll  songs,  kill  people,  and  when  tipsy  climb 
in  at  her  window  for  a  night,  without  thinking  who  he  was 
or  why  he  existed.' 

Though  one  has  always  to  be  carefully  on  one's  guard 
against  taking  Tolstoy's  stories  as  though  they  were  auto- 
biographical, there  are  passages  in  The  Cossacks  which 
certainly  apply  to  himself,  and  give  a  vivid  idea  of  some 
of  his  moods  at  this  time,  as  well  as  of  his  way  of  life 
while  living  as  a  Junker  at  Starogladovsk. 

On  one  occasion  the  hero  is  out  hunting  in  the  woods 
and  asks  himself: 


'  How  must  I  live  so  as  to  be  happy,  and  why  was  I  formerly 
not  happy  ? '  And  he  remembered  his  previous  life,  and  felt 
disgusted  with  himself.  .  .  .  And  suddenly  a  new  light  seemed 
revealed  to  him.  *  Happiness/  said  he  to  himself,  *  consists  in 
living  for  others.  That  is  clear.  The  demand  for  happiness  is 
innate  in  man  ;  therefore  it  is  legitimate.  If  we  seek  to  satisfy 
it  selfishly :  by  seeking  wealth,  fame,  comforts,  or  love,  circum- 
stances may  render  the  satisfaction  of  these  desires  impossible. 
It  follows  that  they  are  illegitimate,  but  not  that  the  demand 
for  happiness  itself  is  illegitimate.  But  what  desire  is  there 
that  can  always  be  satisfied  in  spite  of  external  conditions.^ 
What  desire  ?  Love,  self-sacrifice !  '  He  was  so  glad  and 
excited  at  discovering  this,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  new  truth, 
that  he  jumped  up  and  began  impatiently  seeking  for  some  one 
for  whom  he  might  quickly  sacrifice  himself:  to  whom  he 
might  do  good,  and  whom  he  could  love.  'Yes;  I  need 
nothing  for  myself !'  he  kept  mentally  repeating:  '  Then  why 
not  live  for  others  .-• ' 


80  LEO  TOLSTOY 

In  the  same  story  Tolstoy  tells  us  that  his  hero  lived 
monotonously  and  regularly. 

He  had  little  to  do  with  his  Commander  or  fellow-officers. 
In  the  Caucasus  the  position  of  a  Junker  with  means  of  his 
own  was  in  this  respect  particulai-ly  favourable.  He  was  not 
sent  to  drill  nor  kept  at  work.  As  a  reward  for  going  on  an 
expedition  he  was  recommended  for  a  commission,  and  mean- 
while he  was  left  alone.  The  officers  considered  him  an 
aristocrat,  and  therefore  in  their  intercourse  with  him  bore 
themselves  with  dignity.  Card -playing  and  the  officers' 
carousals  with  singers,  of  which  he  had  had  experience  when 
on  service  with  the  detachment,  seemed  to  him  unattractive, 
and  he  avoided  the  officers'  society. 

Again  he  tells  us  that  his  hero 

often  thought  seriously  of  abandoning  all  else,  enrolling  him- 
self as  a  Cossack,  buying  a  cottage,  and  marrying  a  Cossack 
girl  .  .  .  and  living  with  Uncle  Eroshka,  going  with  him  to 
hunt  and  to  fish,  and  with  the  Cossacks  on  expeditions.  '  Why 
don't  I  do  this  ?  What  am  I  waiting  for  ? '  he  asked  him- 
self. .  .  .  But  a  voice  told  him  to  wait,  and  not  to  decide.  He 
was  restrained  by  a  dim  consciousness  that  he  could  not  fully 
live  the  life  of  Eroshka  and  Loukashka,  because  he  had  another 
happiness, — he  was  restrained  by  the  thought  that  happiness 
lies  in  self-sacrifice.  .  .  .  He  continually  sought  an  opportunity 
to  sacrifice  himself  for  others,  but  it  did  not  present  itself. 

In  the  same  story  the  Cossack  Loukashka  kills  a  Tartar 
'  brave '  at  night,  and  rises  greatly  in  the  popular  esteem 
and  in  his  own ;  and  the  hero  thinks  to  himself : 

*  What  nonsense  and  confusion !  A  man  kills  another  and 
is  as  happy  and  satisfied  as  though  he  had  done  an  excellent 
deed.  Does  nothing  tell  him  there  is  here  no  cause  for  great 
rejoicing  ?  That  happiness  consists  not  in  killing  others,  but 
in  sacrificing  oneself.''' 

We  have  a  yet  safer  record  of  Tolstoy''s  feelings  in  his 


CAUCASUS  81 

Diary,  in  which  about  this  tioie  he  noted  down  the  follow- 
ing reflections  concerning  the  chief  faults  he  was  conscious 
of  in  himself : 

1.  The  passion  of  gaming  is  a  covetous  passion,  gradually 
developing  into  a  craving  for  strong  excitement.  Against  this 
passion  one  can  struggle. 

2.  Sensuality  is  a  physical  need,  a  demand  of  the  body, 
excited  by  imagination.  It  increases  with  abstinence,  and 
therefore  the  struggle  against  it  is  very  difficult.  The  best  way 
is  by  labour  and  occupation. 

3.  Vanity  is  the  passion  least  harmful  to  others  and  most 
harmful  to  oneself. 

In  another  passage,  indicating  quite  a  different  phase  of 
consciousness,  he  writes  : 

For  some  time  past  repentance  for  the  loss  of  the  best  years 
of  life  has  begun  to  torment  me,  and  this  since  I  commenced 
to  feel  that  I  could  do  something  good.  .  .  .  There  is  some- 
thing in  me  which  compels  me  to  believe  that  I  was  not  born 
to  be  like  everybody  else. 

In  May  we  find  him  going  on  furlough  to  Pyatigorsk 
to  drink  the  mineral  water  and  to  be  treated  for  rheu- 
matism. This  is  his  description  of  Pyatigorsk,  written 
nearly  twenty  years  later  in  his  Reading  Book  for  Children  : 

Pyatigorsk  (Five  Hills)  is  so  called  because  it  stands  on 
Mount  Besh-tau.  Besh  means  in  Tartar  'five,'  Tau  means 
'  hill.'  From  this  mountain  flows  a  hot  sulphur  stream.  The 
water  is  boiling,  and  over  the  places  where  it  springs  from  the 
mountain  there  is  always  steam,  as  from  a  samovar. 

The  whole  place  where  the  town  stands  is  very  gay.  From 
the  mountain  flow  hot  springs,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
flows  the  river  Podkoumok.  The  mountain  slopes  are  wooded, 
all  around  are  fields,  and  afar  off  one  sees  the  great  Caucasian 
mountains.  On  these  the  snow  never  melts,  and  they  are 
always  as  white  as  sugar.  When  the  weather  is  clear,  wherever 
one  goes  one  sees  the  great  mountain,  Elbrus,  like  a  sugar 
cone.     People  come  to  the  hot  springs  for  then-  health ;  and 

F 


82  LEO  TOLSTOY 

over  the  springs,  arbours  and  awnings  have  been  erected,  and 
gardens  and  paths  have  been  laid  out  all  around.  In  the 
morning  a  band  plays,  and  people  drink  the  waters,  or  bathe, 
or  stroll  about. 

Here  he  was  joined  by  his  sister  Mary  and  her  husband. 
She  also  came  to  Pyatigorsk  to  be  cured  of  rheumatism. 
She  tells  how  her  brother  Leo  was  at  this  time  attracted 
by  Spiritualism,  and  would  sometimes  even  borrow  a  table 
from  a  cafe  and  have  a  seance  on  the  boulevard.  He 
remained  in  Pyatigorsk  till  5th  August,  and  then  returned 
to  Starogladovsk.  From  thence  he  wrote  to  his  aunt, 
repeating  what  he  had  said  before  of  the  officers  with  whom 
he  had  to  associate. 

*  II  y  a  une  trop  grande  difference  dans  1' education,  les 
sentiments  et  la  maniere  de  voir  de  ceux  que  je  rencontre  ici 
pour  que  je  trouve  quelque  plaisir  avec  eux.  II  n'y  a  que 
Nicolas  qui  a  le  talent,  malgre  I'enorme  difference  qu'il  y  a 
entre  lui  et  tous  ces  messieurs,  k  s'amuser  avec  eux  et  k  etre 
aime  de  tous.  Je  lui  envie  ce  talent,  mais  je  sens  que  je  ne 
puis  en  faire  autant. 

He  mentions  that  for  some  time  past  he  has  acquired  a 
taste  for  reading  history,  and  says  that  he  perseveres  in  his 
literary  occupations.  He  had  already  three  times  rewritten 
a  work  he  had  in  hand,  and  intended  to  rewrite  it  again. 
He  felt  much  more  content  with  himself  at  this  time,  and 
adds : 

t  II  y  a  eu  un  temps  ou  j'etais  vain  de  mon  esprit  et  de  ma 
position  dans  le  monde,  de  mon  nom ;  mais  a  present  je  sais  et 

*  There  is  too  great  a  difference  in  the  education,  the  sentiments, 
and  the  point  of  view  of  those  I  meet  here,  for  me  to  find  any 
pleasure  in  their  company.  Only  Nicholas,  in  spite  of  the  enormous 
difference  between  him  and  all  these  gentlemen,  has  the  talent  to 
amuse  himself  with  them,  and  to  be  loved  by  all.  I  envy  him  this 
talent,  but  feel  that  I  cannot  do  the  same. 

+  There  was  a  time  when  I  was  vain  of  my  intelligence,  of  my  posi- 
tion in  the  world,  and  of  my  name ;  but  now  I  know  and  feel  that  if 


CAUCASUS  83 

je  sens  que  s'il  y  a  en  moi  quelque  chose  de  bon  et  que  si  j'ai  h. 
en  rendre  grace  k  la  Providence,  c'est  pour  un  coeur  bon, 
sensible  et  capable  d'amour,  qu'il  lui  a  plu  de  me  donner  et  de 
me  conserver. 

On  29th  June  he  again  notes  in  his  Diary : 

He  whose  aim  is  his  own  happiness,  is  bad ;  he  whose  aim  is 
the  good  opinion  of  others,  is  weak  ;  he  whose  aim  is  the  happi- 
ness of  others,  is  virtuous ;  he  whose  aim  is  God,  is  great. 

On  2nd  July  he  completed  Childhood,  and  a  few  days  later 

despatched  the   manuscript,  signed   only  with   the   initials 

L.  N.  T.,    to   the   best   Petersburg   monthly,    The 

.  1852 

Contcmporaj-y .    On  2Sth  August  he  received  a  reply 

from    the    editor,    the    poet    Nekrasof,    saying    he    would 

publish    the    story   and  that    he   thought   its   author  had 

talent.   Another  letter  followed,  dated  5th  September  1852, 

in  which    Nekrasof  said   that  having  re-read  the  story  in 

proof,  he  found  it  '  much  better  than  I  had  realised  at  first. 

I  can  say  definitely  that  its  author  has  talent.'      He  added 

that  it  would  appear  in  the  next  number  of  his  magazine. 

Tolstoy  notes  in  his  Diary  :  '  Received  letter  from  Nek- 
rdsof ;  praises,  but  no  money.' 

Nekrasofs  next  letter  is  dated  30  th  October,  and  explains 
that  it  is  not  customary  to  pay  authors  for  their  first  work, 
but  that  he  hopes  Tolstoy  will  send  him  more  stories,  and 
that  in  future  he  will  pay  him  as  much  as  to  the  very  best 
known  writers,  namely  Rs.  50  (nearly  £1  at  that  time)  per 
sheet  of  sixteen  pages.  He  mentioned  also  that  Childhood 
had  been  very  well  received  by  the  public. 

Tolstoy  kept  his  authorship  a  secret,  revealing  it  to  no 
one  except  Nicholas  and  Aunt  Tatiana.  His  sister  Mary 
was  by  this  time  back  at  her  husband's  estate,  situated  near 


there  is  anything  good  in  me,  and  if  I  have  anything  to  thank  Provi- 
dence for,  it  is  for  a  good  heart,  sensitive  and  capable  of  love,  which 
it  has  pleased  it  to  give  me  and  to  preserve  in  me. 


84  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Tourgenefs  village  of  Spassky.  There  Tourgenef  came 
one  day  to  visit  her,  bringing  with  him  the  last  number  of 
the  Contemporary.  Full  of  praise  of  a  new  story  by  an  un- 
known author,  he  began  reading  it  aloud,  and  to  her  great 
astonishment  Mary  recognised,  one  after  another,  various 
incidents  from  her  own  childhood.  Her  first  guess  was  that 
Nicholas  must  have  written  it. 

Among  the  writers  who  at  once  acclaimed  Tolstoy''s 
genius  was  Panaef,  co-editor  of  the  Contemporary,  who, 
Tourgenef  pretended,  had  to  be  carefully  shunned  by  his 
friends  on  the  Nevsky  (the  chief  street  in  Petersburg)  lest  he 
should  insist  on  reading  them  extracts  from  the  new  story. 
Before  long  the  work  reached  Dostoyevsky  in  Siberia,  and 
he  was  so  struck  by  it  that  he  wrote  to  a  friend  asking  him 
to  find  out  who  the  talented  L.  N.  T.  was. 

Meanwhile  Tolstoy  continued  his  military  career  in  the 
Caucasus.  On  his  return  to  Starogladovsk  in  August,  he 
had  noted  in  his  Diary  :  '  Simplicity — that  is  the  quality 
which  above  all  others  I  desire  to  attain.' 

He  had  to  pass  an  unpleasant  month  in  consequence  of 
the  autumn  manoeuvres,  about  which  he  wrote  :  '  It  was  not 
very  pleasant  to  have  to  march  about  and  fire  off  cannons ; 
especially  as  it  disturbed  the  regularity  of  my  life  "* ;  and 
he  rejoiced  when  it  was  over  and  he  was  again  able  to  devote 
himself  to  '  hunting,  writing,  reading,  and  conversation  with 
Nicholas/  He  had  become  fond  of  shooting  game,  at  which 
— as  at  all  physical  exercises — he  was  expert ;  and  he  spent 
two  or  three  hours  a  day  at  it.  He  writes  to  his  Aunt 
Tatiana  : 

At  100  paces  from  my  lodging  I  find  wild  fowl,  and  in 
half  an  hour  I  kill  2,  3,  or  4.  Besides  the  pleasure,  the 
exercise  is  excellent  for  my  health,  which  in  spite  of  the 
waters  is  not  very  good.  I  am  not  ill,  but  I  often  catch  cold 
and  suffer  from  sore  throat  or  from  toothache  or  from  rheu- 
matism, so  that  I  have  to  keep  to  my  room  at  least  two  days 
in  the  week. 


CAUCASUS  85 

One  of  the  forms  of  sport  he  enjoyed  during  his  stay  in 
the  Caucasus  was  strepet  shooting :  the  strepet  being  a 
steppe  grouse.  Before  they  migrate  in  mid- August,  these 
birds  assemble  in  enormous  flocks,  and  are  extremely  wild 
and  difficult  of  approach.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  get 
within  two  hundred  or  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  such 
a  flock.  Tolstoy  had  a  horse  that  was  specially  trained  for 
this  particular  sport.  On  it  he  used  to  ride  at  a  foot-pace 
two  or  three  times  round  a  flock,  carefully  narrowing  the 
circle  till  he  got  as  near  as  possible  without  alarming  the 
birds.  Then  he  would  dash  forward  at  full  gallop  with  his 
gun  ready.  The  moment  the  birds  rose  he  dropped  his 
reins  on  the  horse's  neck,  and  the  well-trained  animal  would 
instantly  stop,  allowing  its  master  to  take  aim. 

Tolstoy's  military  career  was  not  giving  him  satisfaction. 
Having  left  home  without  any  definite  plans,  he  had  neglected 
to  bring  any  documents  with  him,  and  the  result  of  this  was 
that  instead  of  becoming  an  officer  within  eighteen  months, 
as  he  expected  to  do  when  he  entered  the  army,  he  now,  after 
serving  for  ten  months,  received  notice  that  he  would  have 
to  serve  another  three  years  before  he  could  obtain  his 
commission. 

In  this  difficulty  he  applied  to  his  aunt  P.  I.  Ushkof, 
who  by  application  to  an  influential  friend  eventually  suc- 
ceeded in  hastening  his  promotion.  Meanwhile  however 
Tolstoy — who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  retire  from  the 
army  as  soon  as  he  received  his  commission — almost  lost 
patience. 

On  24th  December  he  completed  the  sketch  entitled 
The  Raid:  A  Volunteer's  Story,  and  two  days  later  posted 
it  to  the  Contemporary,  in  which  magazine  it  appeared  in 
March  1853.  The  following  passage  occurs  in  this  his 
first  story  of  war,  and  foreshadows  the  attitude  he  ulti- 
mately made  definitely  his  own.  He  is  describing  a  march 
through  Caucasian  scenery  to  a  night  attack  on  a  Tartar 
A  Old,  and  he  says  : 


86  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Nature,  beautiful  and  strong,  breathed  conciliation. 

Can  it  be  that  people  have  not  room  to  live  in  this  beautiful 
world,  under  this  measureless,  starry  heaven  ?  Can  feelings  of 
enmity,  vengeance,  or  lust  to  destroy  one's  fellow  beings,  retain 
their  hold  on  man's  soul  amid  this  enchanting  Nature  ?  All 
that  is  evil  in  man's  heart  should,  one  would  think,  vanish  in 
contact  with  Nature — this  immediate  expression  of  beauty  and 
goodness. 

From  the  very  start  we  find  Tolstoy  hampered  in  his  work 
by  that  incubus  of  all  Russian  writers,  the  Censor.  In 
a  letter  to  his  brother  Sergius  in  May  he  writes  :  '  Child- 
hood was  spoilt,  and  Tlic  Raid  simply  ruined  by  the  Censor. 
All  that  was  good  in  it  has  been  struck  out  or  mutilated."* 
In  comparing  Tolstoy's  literary  achievement  with  that  of 
Western  writers,  one  should  make  a  large  allowance  for  the 
continual  annoyance,  delay,  mutilation,  and  suppression 
inflicted  on  him  by  that  terrible  satellite  of  despotism. 

In  January,  the  battery   in   which   Leo  Tolstoy  served 

went  on  active  service  against  Shamyl.      The  ex- 
1853  .  . 

pedition  assembled  at  Fort  Grozny,  where  scenes  of 

debauchery  occurred. 

On  18th  February  Tolstoy's  life  was  in  great  danger. 
A  shell  fired  by  the  enemy  smashed  the  carriage  of  a 
cannon  he  was  pointing.  Strange  to  say  he  was  not  even 
wounded.  On  1st  April  he  returned  with  his  detachment  to 
Starogladovsk ;  and  in  May  we  find  him  writing  to  his 
brother  Sergius  that  he  had  applied  for  his  discharge,  and 
hoped  in  six  weeks'  time  to  return  home  a  free  man.  Diffi- 
cult as  his  admission  to  the  army  had  been,  he  found, 
however,  that  to  retire  was  a  yet  harder  matter,  destined 
to  take  not  weeks  but  years. 

On  13th  June  his  life  was  again  in  danger  owing  to  an 
adventure  which  supplied  him  witli  the  subject  he  utilised 
later  on  in  A  Prisoner  in  the  Caucasus. 

It  being  dangerous  to  travel  between  the  Russian  forts 
without  an  escort,  non-combatants,  as  well  as  stores  and 


CAUCASUS  87 

baggage,    were    periodically    convoyed    from    one    post    to 
another.    On  these  expeditions  it  was  forbidden  for  any  one 
to  detach  himself  from  the  main  body  ;  but  the  intolerable 
slowness  of  the   infantry  march  on  a  hot  day,  frequently 
tempted  those  who  were  mounted,  to  ride  on,  and  to  run  the 
risk  of  being  attacked  by  the  '  Tartars '  (who  were  gener- 
ally Circassians).      On  one  such  occasion    five   horsemen, 
including  Tolstoy  and  his  friend  Sado,  disobeyed  the  regu- 
lations and    rode   ahead.      The  two  friends  ascended  the 
hillside  to  see  whether  any  foes  were  visible,  while  their 
three  companions  proceeded  along  the  valley  below.     Hardly 
had  the  two  reached  the  crest  of  the  ridge  when  they  saw 
thirty  mounted  Tartars  galloping  towards  them.   Calculating 
that  there  was  not  time  to  rejoin  their  companions  in  the 
valley,  Tolstoy  shouted  them  a  warning,  and  raced  off  along 
the  ridge  towards  Fort  Grozny,  which  was  their  destination. 
The  three  did  not,  at  first,  take  his  warning  seriously,  but 
wasting  some  precious  moments  before  turning  to  rejoin  the 
column,  were  overtaken  by  the  Tartars,  and  two  of  them 
were  very  severely  wounded  before  a  rescue  party  from  the 
convoy  put  the  enemy  to  flight.      Meanwhile  Tolstoy  and 
Sddo,  pursued  by  seven  horsemen  along  the  hill  ridge,  had 
to  ride  nearly  three  miles  to  reach  the  fort.    It  so  happened 
that  Tolstoy  was  trying  a  young  horse  of  Sado*'s,  while  Sado 
was  riding  Tolstoy's  ambler,  which  could  not  gallop.   Though 
Tolstoy  could  easily  have  escaped  on  Sado's  fiery  horse,  he 
would  not  desert  his  comrade.      Sado  had  a  gun,  unluckily 
not  loaded,  and  so  he  could  only  make  a  pretence  with  it  of 
aiming  at  his  pursuers.      It  seemed  almost  certain  that  both 
fugitives  would  be  killed ;  but  apparently  the  Tartars  de- 
cided to  capture  them  alive,  perhaps  wishing  to  revenge 
themselves  on  Sado  for  being  a  pro-Russian,  and  therefore 
they  did  not  shoot  them  down.     At  last  a  sentinel  at  Grozny 
having   espied    their    plight,    gave    the    ^larm    and    some 
Cossacks  galloped  to  their  rescue.      At  sight  of  these,  the 
Tartars  made  off  and  the  fugitives  escaped  uninjured. 


88  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Tolstoy  continued  his  habit  of  forming  resolutions ;  and 
about  this  time  he  wrote  :  '  Be  straightforward,  not  rough, 
but  frank  with  all  men  ;  yet  not  childishly  frank  without  any 
need.  .  .  .  Refrain  from  wine  and  women  .  .  .  the  pleasure 
is  so  small  and  uncertain,  and  the  remorse  so  great.  .  .  . 
Devote  yourself  completely  to  whatever  you  do.  On  ex- 
periencing any  strong  sensation,  wait ;  but  having  once 
considered  the  matter,  though  wrongly,  act  decisively.' 

From  the  middle  of  July  to  October,  Tolstoy  again 
stayed  at  Pyatigc5rsk. 

A  companion  he  had  brought  with  him  to  the  Caucasus 
was  his  black  bulldog,  Boulka.  He  intended  to  leave  it 
at  home,  but  after  he  had  started,  the  dog  had  broken  a 
pane  of  glass  and  escaped  from  the  room  in  which  it  was 
confined,  and  when  Tolstoy,  after  stopping  at  the  first  post- 
station,  was  just  resuming  his  journey,  he  saw  something 
black  racing  along  the  road  after  him.  It  was  Boulka,  who 
rushed  to  his  master,  licked  his  hand,  and  lay  down  pant- 
ing in  the  shade  of  a  cart.  The  dog  had  galloped  nearly 
fourteen  miles  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  was  rewarded  by 
being  taken  to  the  Caucasus,  where  it  was  destined  to  meet 
with  many  adventures. 

On  one  occasion  this  dog  boldly  attacked  a  wild  boar, 
and  had  its  stomach  ripped  open  by  the  latter's  tusk. 
While  its  wound  was  being  sewn  up,  the  dog  licked  its 
master''s  hand. 

On  another  occasion,  when  Tolstoy  was  sitting  at  night 
with  a  friend  in  the  village  street,  intending  to  start  for 
Pyatigorsk  at  daybreak,  they  suddenly  heard  a  sucking-pig 
squeal,  and  guessed  that  a  wolf  was  killing  it.  Tolstoy 
ran  into  the  house,  seized  a  loaded  gun,  and  returned  in 
time  to  see  a  wolf  running  straight  towards  him  from  the 
other  side  of  a  wattle-fence.  The  wolf  jumped  on  to  the 
top  of  the  fence  and  descended  close  to  Tolstoy  who, 
almost  touching  him  with  the  mu/zle  of  his  gun,  drew  the 
trigger.       The   gun    missed  fire,  and    the  wolf  raced   ofF, 


CAUCASUS  89 

chased  by  Boulka  and  by  Tolstoy's  setter,  Milton.  The 
wolf  escaped,  but  not  till  it  had  snapped  at  Boulka  and 
inflicted  a  slight  wound  on  his  head.  Strange  to  say,  the 
wolf  ventured  to  return  a  little  later  into  the  middle  of  the 
street,  and  again  escaped  unhurt. 

Not  long  after,  in  Pyatigorsk,  shortly  before  Tolstoy 
left  the  Caucasus,  while  drinking  coffee  in  the  garden  of 
his  lodging,  he  heard  a  tremendous  noise  of  men  and  dogs, 
and,  on  inquiry,  learnt  that  convicts  had  been  let  out  of 
gaol  to  kill  the  dogs,  of  whom  there  were  too  many  in 
the  town,  but  that  orders  had  been  given  to  spare  dogs 
wearing  collars.  As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  Tolstoy  had 
removed  Boulka's  collar ;  and  Boulka,  apparently  recognis- 
ing the  convicts  as  his  natural  enemies,  rushed  out  into  the 
street  and  flew  at  one  of  them.  A  man  had  just  freed 
the  long  hook  he  carried,  from  the  corpse  of  a  dog  he  had 
caught  and  held  down  while  his  companions  beat  it  to 
death  with  bludgeons.  He  now  adroitly  hooked  Boulka 
and  drew  the  unfortunate  dog  towards  him,  calling  to 
his  mate  to  kill  it,  which  the  latter  prepared  to  do. 
Boulka  however  bounded  aside  with  such  force  that  the 
skin  of  his  thigh  burst  where  the  hook  held  it,  and  with 
tail  between  his  legs  and  a  red  wound  on  his  thigh,  he 
flew  back  into  the  house  and  hid  under  Tolstoy''s  bed. 
His  escape  was  not  of  much  use.  The  wolf  that  had 
snapped  at  him  six  weeks  before  must  have  been  mad, 
for  Boulka  after  showing  premonitory  symptoms  of  rabies, 
disappeared,  and  was  never  heard  of  more. 

Tolstoy''s  state  of  mind  during  the  latter  part  of  this 
year  is  indicated  by  his  letters.  To  his  brother  Sergius 
he  wrote  on  20  th  July  : 

I  think  I  already  wrote  you  that  I  have  sent  in  my  resigna- 
tion. God  knows,  however,  on  account  of  the  war  with 
Turkey,  whether  it  will  be  accepted,  or  when.  This  disturbs 
me  very  much,  for  I  have  now  grown  so  accustomed  to  happy 
thoughts  of  soon  settling  down  in  the  country,  that  to  return 


90  LEO  TOLSTOY 

to  StarogUdovsk  and  again  wait  unendingly — as  I  have  to 
wait  for  everything  connected  with  my  service — will  be  very 
unpleasant. 

Again,  in  December,  he  writes  from  Starogladovsk  : 

Please  write  about  my  papers  quickly.  This  is  necessary. 
'  When  shall  I  come  home  ? '  God  only  knows.  For  nearly  a 
vear  I  have  been  thinking  only  of  how  to  sheath  my  sword, 
but  still  cannot  manage  it.  And  as  I  must  fight  somewhere,  I 
think  it  will  be  pleasanter  to  do  so  in  Turkey  than  here,  and  I 
have  therefore  applied  to  Prince  Serge  Dmitrievitch  [Gortcha- 
kofj  about  it,  and  he  writes  me  that  he  has  written  to  his 
brother,  but  what  the  result  will  be,  I  do  not  know. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Tolstoy's  paternal  grand- 
mother was  a  Gortchakdf.  Through  her  he  was  nearly 
related  to  Prince  S.  D.  Gortchakdf  and  to  his  brother, 
Prince  Michael  Dmitrievitch  Gortchakdf,  who  had  been  a 
friend  of  his  father's  in  the  war  of  1812,  and  was  now  in 
command  of  the  Russian  army  on  the  Danube. 

The  letter  continues  : 

At  any  rate  by  New  Year  I  expect  to  change  my  way  of  life, 
which  I  confess  wearies  me  intolerably.  Stupid  officers,  stupid 
conversations,  and  nothing  else.  If  there  were  but  a  single 
man  to  whom  one  could  open  one's  soul !  Tourgenef  is  right : 
'  What  irony  there  is  in  solitude,' — one  becomes  palpably 
stupid  oneself.  Although  Nikolenka  has  gone  off  with  the 
hounds — Heaven  knows  why  (Epishka^  and  I  often  call  him 
'a  pig'  for  so  doing) — I  go  out  hunting  alone  for  Avhole  days 
at  a  time  from  morning  to  evening,  with  a  setter.  That  is  my 
only  pleasure — and  not  a  pleasure  but  a  narcotic.  One  tires 
oneself  out,  gets  famished,  sleeps  like  the  dead,  and  a  day  has 
passed.  When  you  have  an  opportunity,  or  are  yourself  in 
Moscow,  buy  me  Dickens'  David  Copperfield  in  English,  and 
send  me  Sadler's  English  Dictionary  which  is  among  my  books. 

1  The  Cossack  hunter  Eplshka,  the  original  of  Er6shka,  who  figures  so 
prominently  in  TAe  Cossacks. 


CAUCASUS  91 

Of  the  entries  in  his  Diary  at  this  time,  we  may  note 
the  following  : 

All  the  prayers  I  have  invented  I  replace  by  the  one  prayer, 
'  Our  Father.'  All  the  requests  I  can  make  to  God  are  far  more 
loftily  expressed  and  more  worthily  of  Him,  in  the  words  '  Thy 
Kingdom  come,  as  in  heaven  so  on  earth.' 

About  this  time  he  completed  his  Memoirs  of  a  Billiard 
Marker,  and  sent  it  to  the  Contemporary  with  a  letter 
expressing  his  own  dissatisfaction  with  the  hasty  workman- 
ship of  the  story ;  it  did  not  appear  till  more  than  a  year 
later.      He  was  also  now  at  work  on  Boyhood. 

Seventeen  years  after  Tolstoy  had  left  the  Caucasus,  an 
officer  stationed  at  Starogladovsk  found  his  memory  still 
fresh  among  the  Cossacks,  and  saw  Mariana  (comparatively 
aged  by  that  time),  as  well  as  several  elderly  Cossack 
hunters  who  had  shot  wild  fowl  and  wild  boars  with 
Tolstoy.  In  his  regiment  he  left  the  reputation  of  being 
an  excellent  narrator,  who  enthralled  every  one  by  his  con- 
versation. 

Not  till  January  1854  did  the  long-expected  order 
arrive  allowing  him  to  pass  the  examination  (a  pure 
formality  at  that  time)  entitling  him  to  become 
an  officer.  On  the  I9th  he  left  for  home,  and  on 
2nd  February  reached  Yasnaya,  where  he  enjoyed  a  three 
weeks'  stay  with  his  Aunt  Tatiana,  his  brother,  and  a  friend. 
On  this  journey  he  encountered  a  severe  storm,  to  which 
we  owe  The  Snow  Storm,  published  a  couple  of  years  later, 
and  probably  also  much  of  the  storm  description  in  Master 
and  Man,  written  in  later  life. 

The  Russo-Turkish  war  had  now  begun  in  earnest,  and, 
as  a  result  of  his  application,  he  received  orders  to  join  the 
army  of  the  Danube,  which  he  set  out  accordingly  to  do. 

Of  the  Caucasian  period  of  his  life,  as  of  his  University 
days,  Tolstoy  has  at  different  times  expressed  himself 
differently.     To  Birukof,  in   1905,  he  spoke  of  it  as  one 


92  LEO  TOLSTOY 

of  the  best  times  of  his  life,  notwithstanding  all  his  deflec- 
tions from  his  dimly  recognised  ideals.  Yet  two  years 
earlier,  writing  of  the  four  periods  of  his  life,  he  had 
spoken  of  '  the  terrible  twenty  years  of  coarse  dissipation, 
the  service  of  ambition,  vanity,  and  above  all,  of  lust,^ 
which  followed  after  the  age  of  fourteen. 

But  what  it  comes  to  is,  that  Tolstoy  is  a  man  of  moods, 
and  judges  himself  and  others,  sometimes  by  ordinary  and 
sometimes  by  extraordinary  standards. 

CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  III 

Birukof. 
Behrs. 

U.  Bitovt,  Graf  L.  Tolstoy  v  literatoure  i  iskousstve :  Petersburg, 
1903.  (Hereafter  called  'Bitovt.')  Though  ill-arranged,  this  book 
is  valuable  to  any  one  engaged  on  the  difficult  task  of  compiling 
a  Bibliography  of  Tolstoy's  works. 

Nekrasof's  letters  to  Tolstoy  published  in  the  Literary  Supplement 
to  the  Niva,  February  1898. 

Much  light  is  also  thrown  on  this  period  of  Tolstoy's  life  by  the 
following  works,  which  must  not  be  considered  autobiographical : 
The  Raid. 
The  Wood-Felling. 
Meeting  a  Moscow  Acquaintance. 
The  Cossacks,  and 
The  Snow  Storm, 
as  well  as  by  stories  included  in  Tolstoy's  Readers : 
Boulka. 

Boulka  and  the  Wild  Boar, 
Milton  and  Boulka. 
Boulka  and  the  Wolf. 
What  Happened  to  Boulka  in  Pt/atigonk. 
Boulka' s  and  Milton's  End. 
A  Prisoner  in  the  Caucasut, 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    CRIMEAN    WAR 

Joins  army  of  the  Danube.  Siege  of  Silistria.  Sevastopol. 
Projected  Newspaper.  Sevastopol  in  December.  Battle  of  the 
Tchernaya.  Capture  of  the  Malahof.  Courier  to  Peters- 
burg. Song,  Relations  with  superiors  and  fellow-officers. 
Self-depreciation.  The  Wood-Felling.  Sevastopol  in  May. 
The  Censor.     On  War. 

At  twenty-five  years  of  age  it  fell  to  Tolstoy'^s  lot  to  take 
part  in  a  great  European  war  and  thereby  to  extend  the 
range  of  his  experience  in  a  way  that  considerably  affected 
his  subsequent  life  and  writings. 

Tolstoy  tells  us  that  he  got  his  first  understanding  of 
war  from  Stendhal,  the  author  of  Le  Rouge  et  le  Noir  and 
La  Chartreuse  de  Parme.  In  conversation  with  Paul 
Boyer,  Tolstoy  once  spoke  of  those  novels  as  inimitable 
works  of  art,  adding,  '  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  Stendhal. 
He  taught  me  to  understand  war.  Re-read  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  battle  of  Waterloo  in  La  Chartreuse  de  Parme. 
Who  ever  before  so  described  war  ?  Described  it,  that  is, 
as  it  is  in  reality  .'*  Do  vou  remember  Fabrice  riding 
over  the  field  of  battle  and  understanding  "  nothing ""  ? ' 

Tolstoy's  brother  Nicholas,  though  fond  of  war,  also 
disbelieved  in  the  popular  romantic  view  of  it,  and  used  to 
say  :  '  All  that  is  embellishment,  and  in  real  war  there  is 
no  embellishment.'' — '  A  little  later,  in  the  Crimea,'  added 
Tolstoy  in  his  talk  with  Boyer,  '  I  had  a  grand  chance  to 
see  with  my  own  eyes  that  this  is  so.' 


94  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Of  the  causes  that  led  to  the  war  it  need  only  be  said 
that  the  rule  of  the  Turks  over  Christian  populations  had 
long  kept  a  dangerous  sore  open  in  Europe,  and  the  conse- 
quent diplomatic  difficulties  were  complicated  by  the 
indefiniteness  of  two  lines  in  the  Treaty  of  Kainardji, 
which  Catherine  the  Great  had  imposed  upon  Turkey  in 
1774.  There  was  also  friction  between  the  Eastern  and 
Western  Churches,  with  reference  to  the  custody  of  the 
Places  in  Palestine  rendered  holy  by  their  traditional  con- 
nection with  the  Prince  of  Peace.  Nicholas  I,  who  had 
wellnigh  drilled  all  intelligence  out  of  those  near  him  in 
his  Government  and  in  his  army,  was  not  accustomed  to  be 
thwarted.  Dimly  conscious  of  the  first  faint  symptoms  of 
that  growth  of  Liberalism  which  a  few  years  later,  in  the 
early  'sixties,  led  to  sweeping  reforms  in  Russia,  he  felt 
inclined  to  demonstrate  the  beneficence  of  his  rule  not  by 
allowing  changes  to  be  made  at  home,  but  by  arbitrarily 
inflicting  reforms  on  Turkey.  Failing  to  get  his  way  by 
diplomatic  pressure,  he  rashly  proceeded  to  occupy  the 
Danubian  Principalities  as  a  '  material  guarantee '  of 
Turkey ^s  compliance  with  his  demands. 

He  was  opposed  by  Austria  and  Prussia  as  strongly  as 
by  England  and  France,  and  the  pressure  exerted  by  the 
four  powers  sufficed  to  compel  him  to  withdraw  his  army 
from  Turkish  soil.  Thereupon  the  war,  which  had  as  yet 
been  waged  only  between  Russia  and  Turkey,  might  well 
have  ended,  had  not  England  and  France  undertaken  a 
quite  needless  invasion  of  the  Crimea :  an  enterprise  in 
which  Austria  and  Prussia  refused  to  join.  The  end  did 
not  justify  the  proceedings,  for  in  spite  of  success  in  this 
war.  Napoleon  the  Third's  dynasty  crumbled  to  dust 
within  twenty  years,  while  within  a  like  period  after 
Palmerston's  death  Lord  Salisbury  frankly  admitted  that 
we  had  '  put  our  money  on  the  wrong  horse.'  As  to 
Nicholas  I,  his  pride  was  destined  to  be  bitterly  mortified 
by  the  results  of  an  enterprise  which  not  only  failed  of  its 


CRIMEA  95 

immediate  object,  but  by  its  failure  actually  hastened  the 
coming  of  those  reforms  in  Russia  against  which  he  had 
set  his  face.  Even  Turkey  did  not  really  benefit  by  being 
allowed  to  oppress  her  subject  races  for  a  couple  of  genera- 
tions longer. 

It  was  the  influence  of  Napoleon  III,  as  Kinglake  has 
pointed  out,  that  led  England  to  take  part  in  the  war. 
Having  by  treachery  and  murder  made  himself  Emperor 
of  the  French,  that  monarch  found  himself  for  a  time 
dangerously  isolated  from  the  support  of  people  of  good 
repute.  In  consultation  with  Palmerston,  he  decided  to 
subordinate  the  traditional  Eastern  policy  of  his  country 
to  that  of  England  if  thereby  he  could  succeed  in  being 
publicly  paraded  as  the  friend  and  ally  of  Queen  Victoria. 
As  soon  as  he  had  secured  an  alliance  with  England,  with 
Palmerston's  aid,  and  helped  by  the  extraordinary  war  fever 
which  seized  the  English  nation,  he  quickly  forced  the 
peacefully  disposed  Lord  Aberdeen  along  an  inclined  plane 
which  ultimately  plunged  both  nations  into  a  war  for 
which  no  sufficient  motive  justification  or  excuse  existed. 

Hostilities   between  Russia   and   Turkey  had  begun  in 
October   1853,  but  France  and  England  did  not  break  off 
negotiations  with  the  former  power  till  the  end  of 
March  1854,   the  very   month    in   which  Tolstoy 
reached  Bucharest  on   his  way  through  Wallachia  to  join 
the  army. 

From  there  he  wrote  to  his  aunt,  telling  of  his  journey. 
The  roads  after  he  had  passed  Kherson,  and  especially  after 
he  had  crossed  the  frontier,  were  abominable ;  his  journey 
lasted  nine  days  ;  and  he  '  arrived  almost  ill  with  fatigue.' 

A  few  days  later,  on  17  th  March,  he  wrote  of  his  first 
interview  with  Gortchakdf : 

*  Le  prince  Gortchakof  n'etait  pas  ici.  Hier  il  vient 
d'arriver  et  je  viens  de  chez  lui.     II  m'a  re9U  mieux  que  je  ne 

*  Prince  Gortchakof  was  not  here.  He  arrived  yesterday,  and  I 
have  just  come  from  his  lodgings.     He  received  me  better  than  I  ex- 


96  LEO  TOLSTOY 

croyais — en  vrai  parent.  II  m'a  embrasse^  il  m'a  engage  de 
venir  diner  tous  les  jours  chez  lui  et  il  veut  me  garder  aupres 
de  lui,  mais  ce  n'est  pas  encore  decide. 

Pardon,  chere  tante,  que  je  vous  ecris  peu — je  n'ai  pas  encore 
la  tete  a  moi, — cette  grande  et  belle  ville,  toutes  ces  presenta- 
tions, I'opera  italien,  le  theatre  fran9ais,  les  deux  jeunes 
Gortchakof  qui  sont  de  tres  braves  gar9ons  .  .  .  de  sorte  que 
je  ne  suis  pas  reste  deux  heures  chez  moi,  et  je  n'ai  pas  pense 
a  mes  occupations. 

On  22nd  March  he  adds  :  '  I  learnt  yesterday  that  I  am 
not  to  remain  with  the  Prince,  but  am  to  go  to  Oltenitza 
to  join  my  battery.' 

In  May  he  wrote  : 

*  Tandis  que  vous  me  croyez  expose  h  tous  les  dangers  de 
la  guerre  je  n'ai  pas  encore  senti  la  poudre  turque,  et  je  suis 
tres  tranquillement  a  Boukarest  k  me  promener,  a  faire  de  la 
musique  et  a  manger  des  glaces.  En  efFet  tout  ce  temps, 
excepte  deux  semaines  que  j'ai  passees  a  Oltenitza  ou  j'ai  ete 
attache  a  une  batterie,  et  une  semaine  que  j'ai  passee  en  courses 
par  la  Moldavie,  Valachie  et  Bessarabie  par  ordre  du  gen. 
Serjpoutovsky  aupres  duquel  je  suis  a  present  by  special  appoint- 
ment, je  suis  reste  k  Boukarest  et  k  vous  avouer  franchement, 

pected — quite  as  a  relation.  He  embraced  me,  and  made  me  promise 
to  dine  at  his  house  every  day.  He  wants  to  keep  me  near  him,  but 
this  is  not  yet  decided. 

Forgive  me,  dear  Aunt,  for  writing  but  little  to  you — I  have  not 
yet  collected  my  wits ;  this  large  and  fine  town,  all  these  presenta- 
tions, the  Italian  opera,  the  French  theatre,  the  two  young  Gortcha- 
kofs,  who  are  very  fine  lads  ...  so  that  I  have  not  remained  two 
hours  at  home,  and  have  not  thought  of  my  duties. 

*  While  you  are  fancying  me  exposed  to  all  the  dangers  of  war,  I 
have  not  yet  smelt  Turkish  powder,  but  am  very  quietly  at  Bucharest, 
strolling  about,  making  music,  and  eating  ices.  In  fact,  all  this  time, 
except  for  two  weeks  I  spent  at  Oltenitza,  where  I  was  attached  to  a 
battery,  and  one  week  I  passed  making  excursions  in  Moldavia 
Wallachia  and  Bessarabia  by  order  of  General  Serzhpoutdvsky,  on 
whose  staff  I  now  am  by  special  appointment,  I  have  been  at  Bucha- 


CRIMEA  97 

ce  genre  de  vie  un  peu  dissipe,  tout  k  fait  oisif  et  tres  coGteux 
quejem^ne  ici  me  deplait  infiniment.  Auparavant  c'etait  le 
service  qui  m'y  retenait,  mais  a  present  j'y  suis  reste  pendant 
pres  de  trois  semaines  k  cause  d'une  fievre  que  j'ai  attrapee 
pendant  mon  voyage,  mais  dont,  Dieu  merci,  je  suis  pour  le 
moment  assez  retabli  pour  rejoindre  dans  deux  ou  trois  jours 
mon  general  qui  est  au  camp  pr^s  de  Silistrie.  A  propos  de 
mon  general,  il  a  I'air  d'etre  un  tres  brave  homme  et  parait, 
quoique  nous  nous  connaissons  fort  peu,  etre  bien  dispose  k 
mon  egard.  Ce  qui  est  encore  fort  agreable  est  que  son  etat- 
major  est  compose  pour  la  plupart  de  gens  comme  il  faut. 

We  shall  find  Tolstoy  modifying  this  opinion,  a  little 
later  on  ;  but  it  is  worth  noting  that  at  this  time  he  was 
fully  alive  to  the  superiority  of  '  g'ens  comme  il  faut,''  and 
that  his  depreciation  of  them  in  later  years  may  have  been 
partly  a  reaction  from  a  previous  over-valuation. 

By  June  1854  the  military  and  political  situation  was 
as  follows.  The  Russians  had  advanced  through  Moldavia 
and  Wallachia  to  the  Danube,  had  crossed  that  river,  and 
were  besieging  Silistria.  Austria,  supporting  the  other 
great  powers,  had  massed  a  powerful  army  on  the  Turkish 
frontier,  and  a  glance  at  the  map  of  Europe  will  show  that 
the  Russian  army,  far  removed  from  its  base,  was  in 
imminent  danger  of  being  cut  off  by  the  Austrians,  who 
peremptorily  summoned  Russia  to  evacuate  the  Principal- 
ities, and  on  14th  June  concluded  a  formal  alliance  with 
the    Porte.        These    circumstances    explain    the    sudden 

rest;  and  to  speak  frankly,  the  rather  dissipated,  quite  idle  and  very 
expensive  kind  of  life  that  I  lead  here,  displeases  me  very  much. 
Formerly  it  was  the  service  that  kept  me  here  ;  but  now  for  three 
weeks  I  have  been  kept  here  by  a  fever  caught  during  my  journey, 
but  from  which,  thank  God,  I  have  for  the  present  recovered  suffi- 
ciently to  be  able  in  two  or  three  days'  time  to  rejoin  my  General,  who 
is  in  camp  near  Silistria.  Apropos  of  my  General,  he  appears  to  be 
a  very  fine  fellow,  and  though  we  know  each  other  very  slightly, 
seems  well  disposed  toward  me.  What  is  also  agreeable  is  that  bis 
staff  consists  for  the  most  part  of  gentlemen. 

Q 


98  LEO  TOLSTOY 

abandonment  of  the  siege  of  Silistria  mentioned  in  the 
following  letter,  addressed  by  Leo  Tolstoy  to  his  Aunt 
Tatiana  and  to  his  brother  Nicholas  conjointly;  though 
when  he  wrote  it,  the  causes  which  produced  the  result  he 
described  were  a  mystery  to  him. 

*  Je  vais  vous  parler  done  de  mes  souvenirs  de  Silistrie. 
J'y  ai  vu  tant  de  choses  interessantes,  poetiques  at  touchantes 
que  le  temps  que  j'y  ai  passe  ne  s'effacera  jamais  de  ma  memoire. 
Notre  camp  etait  dispose  de  I'autre  cote  du  Danube  c.a  d.  sur 
la  rive  droite  sur  un  terrain  ires  eleve  au  miheu  de  superbes 
jardins,  appartenant  a  Mustafa  Pasha — le  gouverneur  de  Silis- 
trie. La  vue  de  cat  androit  est  non  seulement  magnifique, 
mais  pour  nous  tous  du  plus  grand  interet.  Sans  parler  du 
Danube,  de  ces  iles  at  de  cas  rivages,  les  uns  occupes  par  nous, 
las  autres  par  les  Tares,  on  voyait  la  ville,  la  forteresse,  les  petits 
forts  de  Silistrie  comme  sur  la  main.  On  entendait  les  coups 
de  canons,  de  fusils  qui  ne  cassaient  ni  jour  ni  nuit,  et  avec 
une  lunette  d'approcbe  on  pouvait  distinguer  les  soldats  turcs. 
II  est  vrai  que  c'est  un  drole  de  plaisir  que  da  voir  de  gens 
s'entretuer  et  cependant  tous  les  soirs  et  matins  ja  ma  mettais 
sur  ma  cart  et  je  restais  des  heuras  entieres  a  i-egarder  at  ce 
n'etait  pas  moi  la  saul  qui  la  faisait.  Le  spectacle  etait  vrai- 
ment  beau,  surtout   la    nuit.       Les    nuits   ordinairement   mas 

*  I  am  going  to  tell  you  of  my  recollections  of  Silistria.  I  there 
saw  so  much  that  was  interesting,  poetic  and  touching,  that  the  time 
I  passed  there  will  never  be  etfaced  from  my  memory.  Our  camp  was 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Danube,  i.e.  on  the  right  bank,  on  very  high 
ground  amid  splendid  gardens  belonging  to  Mustafa  Pasha,  the 
Governor  of  Silistria,  The  view  from  tliat  place  is  not  only  magnifi- 
cent, but  of  the  greatest  interest  to  us  all.  Not  to  speak  of  the 
Danube,  its  islets  and  its  banks,  some  occupied  by  us,  others  by  the 
Turks,  one  could  see  the  town,  the  fortress  and  the  little  forts  of 
Silistria  as  on  the  palm  of  one's  hand.  One  heard  the  booming  of 
cannon  and  musket-shots  unceasingly  day  and  night ;  and  with  a  spy- 
glass one  could  distinguish  the  Turkish  soldiers.  It  is  true  it  is 
a  queer  sort  of  pleasure  to  see  people  killing  one  anothei*,  yet  every 
evening  and  every  moruing  I  got  on  to  my  cart  and  remained  for 
hours  at  a  time,  watching  :  nor  was  I  the  only  one  who  did  so.  The 
sight  was  really  fine,  especially  at  niglit.    At  night  my  soldiers  usually 


CRIMEA  99 

soldats  se  mettent  aiix  travaux  des  tranchees,  et  les  Turcs  se 
jettent  sur  eux  pour  les  en  empecher,  alors  il  fallait  voir  et 
entendre  cette  fusillade.  La  premiere  nuit  que  j'ai  passee  au 
camp  ce  bruit  terrible  m'a  reveille  et  efFraye,  je  croyais  qu'on 
est  alle  a  I'assaut  et  j'ai  bien  vite  fait  seller  mon  cheval,  mais 
ceux  qui  avait  deja  passe  quelque  temps  au  camp  me  dirent  que 
je  n'avais  qu'a  me  tenir  tranquille,  que  cette  canonnade  et 
fusillade  etait  une  chose  ordinaire  et  qu'on  appela  en  plaisantant, 
'Allah' ;  alors  je  me  suis  recouche,  mais  ne  pouvant  m'endor- 
mir  je  me  suis  amuse,  une  montre  a  la  main,  a  compter  les  coups 
de  canon  que  j'entendais  et  j'ai  compte  110  explosions  dans 
I'espace  d'une  minute.  Et  cependant  tout  ceci  n'a  eu  de  pres 
I'air  aussi  efFrayant  que  cela  le  parait.  La  nuit,  quand  on  n'y 
voyait  rien,  c'etait  a  qui  brillerait  le  plus  de  poudre  et  avec  ces 
milliers  de  coups  de  canons  on  tuait  tout  au  plus  une  trentaine 
d'hommes  de  part  et  d'autre. 

Ceci  done  est  un  spectacle  ordinaire  que  nous  avions  tous 
les  jours  et  dans  lequel,  quand  on  m'envoyait  avec  des  ordres 
dans  les  tranchees,  je  prenais  aussi  ma  part;  mais  nous  avions 
aussi  des  spectacles  extraordinaires,  comme  celui  de  la  veille  de 
I'assaut  quand  on  a  fait  sauter  une  mine  de  240  pouds  de  poudre 
sous  un  des  bastions  de  I'ennemi.     Le  matin  de  cette  journee 

undertake  trench- work,  and  the  Turks  fling  themselves  upon  them  to 
hinder  them  ;  then  one  should  see  and  hear  the  fusillade  !  The  first 
night  I  passed  in  camp,  this  dreadful  noise  awoke  and  frightened  me  : 
I  thought  an  assault  had  begun.  I  very  soon  had  my  horse  saddled  ; 
but  those  who  had  been  already  some  time  in  camp  told  me  that  I  had 
only  to  keep  quiet :  that  this  cannonade  and  fusillade  was  an  ordinary 
affair,  and  they  jestingly  called  it  'Allah.'  Then  I  lay  down  again; 
but  not  being  able  to  sleep,  I  amused  myself,  watch  in  hand,  counting 
the  cannon-shots,  and  I  counted  110  reports  in  a  minute.  And  yet, 
at  close  quarters,  all  this  did  not  look  so  terrible  as  might  be  supposed. 
At  night,  when  nothing  was  visible,  it  was  a  case  of  who  could  burn 
most  powder,  and  with  all  these  thousands  of  cannon-shots  at  most 
some  thirty  men  were  killed  on  each  side.   .   .  . 

This  then  was  an  ordinary  performance  we  had  every  day,  and  one 
in  which  I  took  a  share  when  I  was  sent  to  the  trenches  with  orders  ; 
but  we  also  had  extraordinary  performances,  such  as  the  one  on  the  eve 
of  the  attack,  when  a  mine  of  240  poods  (BfiOO  lbs.)  of  gunpowdt-r  was 
exploded  uuJer  one  of  the  enemy's  bastions.    Ou  the  morning  of  that 

/ 


100  LEO  TOLSTOY 

le  prince  avait  ete  aux  tranchees  avec  tout  son  etat-major 
(comme  le  general  aupres  duquel  j'etais  en  fait  partie,  j'y  ai 
aussi  ete)  pour  faire  les  dispositions  definies — vu  pour  I'assaut 
du  lendemain.  Le  plan,  trop  long  pour  que  je  puisse  I'ex- 
pUquer  ici,  etait  si  bien  fait,  tout  etait  si  bien  prevu  que  per- 
sonne  ne  doutait  de  la  reussite.  A  propos  de  cela  il  faut  que 
je  vous  dise  encore  que  je  commence  k  avoir  de  I'admiration 
pour  le  prince  (au  reste  il  faut  en  entendre  parler  parmi  les 
ofSciers  et  les  soldats,  non  seulement  je  n'ai  jamais  entendu 
dire  du  mal  de  lui,  mais  il  est  generalement  adore). 

Je  I'ai  vu  au  feu  pour  la  premiere  fois  pendant  cette  matinee. 
II  faut  voir  cette  figure  un  peu  ridicule  avec  sa  grande  taille, 
ses  mains  derriere  le  dos,  sa  casquette  en  arriere,  ses  lunettes 
et  sa  maniere  de  parler  comme  un  dindon.  On  voit  qu'il  etait 
tellement  occupe  de  la  marche  generale  des  affaires  que  les 
balles  et  les  boulets  n'existaient  pas  pour  lui ;  il  s'expose  au 
danger  avec  tant  de  simplicite,  qu'on  dirait  qu'il  n'en  a  pas 
I'idee  et  qu'involontairement  qu'on  n'a  plus  peur  de  lui  que  pour 
soi-meme ;  et  puis  donnant  ses  ordres  avec  tant  de  clarte  et  de 
precision  et  avec  cela  toujours  affable  avec  chacun.     C'est  un 


day  the  Prince  had  been  to  the  trenches  with  all  his  staff  (and  as  the 
General  I  was  attached  to  belongs  to  it,  I  was  there  too)  to  make  the 
final  arrangements  for  next  day's  assault.  The  plan — too  long  for  me 
to  explain  here — was  so  well  arranged,  all  was  so  well  foreseen,  that 
no  one  doubted  its  success.  Apropos  of  this  I  must  tell  you  further 
that  I  am  beginning  to  feel  admiration  for  the  Prince  (for  that 
matter  you  should  hear  how  the  officers  and  soldiers  speak  of  him  : 
not  only  have  I  never  heard  him  spoken  ill  of,  but  he  is  generally 
adored). 

That  morning  I  saw  him  under  fire  for  the  first  time.  You  should 
see  his  rather  absurd  tall  figure,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  his  cap  on 
the  back  of  his  head,  his  spectacles,  and  his  way  of  speaking  like  a 
turkey-cock.  One  could  see  that  he  was  so  preoccupied  with  the 
general  trend  of  affairs  that  the  balls  and  bullets  did  not  exist  as  far 
as  he  was  concerned.  He  exposes  himself  to  danger  so  simply  that 
one  would  say  he  was  unconscious  of  it,  and  involuntarily  one  fears 
it  only  for  oneself;  [The  text  here  is  obscure,  and  the  meaning  a 
little  doubtful]  and  then  he  gives  his  orders  with  such  clearness  and 
precision,  and  is  at  the  same  time  always  so  affable  with  everybody. 


CRIMEA  101 

grand,  c.k  d.  un  homme  qui  s'est  voue  toute  sa  vie  au  service  de 
sa  patrie  et  pas  par  Tambition,  mais  par  le  devoir.  Je  vais  vous 
raconter  un  trait  de  lui  qui  se  lie  h.  I'histoire  de  cet  assaut  que 
j'ai  commence  k  raconter.  L'apres-diner  du  meme  jour  on 
a  fait  sauter  la  mine,  et  pres  de  600  pieces  d'artillerie  ont  fait 
feu  sur  le  fort  qu'on  voulait  prendre,  et  on  continuait  ce  feu 
pendant  toute  la  nuit,  c'etait  un  de  ces  coups  d'ceil  et  une  de 
ces  emotions  qu'on  n'oublie  jamais.  Le  soir  de  nouveau  le 
prince,  avec  tout  le  tremblement,  est  alle  couclier  aux  tranchees 
pour  diriger  lui-meme  I'assaut  qui  devait  commencer  k  3  heurcs 
de  la  nuit  meme. 

Nous  etions  tous  la  et  comme  toujours  a  la  veille  d'une 
bataille  nous  faisions  tous  semblant  de  ne  pas  plus  penser  de  la 
journee  de  demain  qu'a  une  journee  ordinaire  et  tous,  j'en  suis 
sdr,  au  fond  du  cceur  ressentaient  un  petit  serrement  de  coeur 
et  pas  meme  un  petit  mais  un  grand,  a  I'idee  de  I'assaut.  Comme 
tu  sais  que  le  temps  qui  precede  une  affaire  est  le  temps  le  plus 
desagreable — c'est  le  seul  ou  on  a  le  temps  d'avoir  peur,  et  la 
peur  est  un  sentiment  des  plus  desagreables.  Vers  le  matin, 
plus  le  moment  approchait,  plus  le  sentiment  diminuait  et  vers 
3  heures  quand  nous  attendions  tous  k  voir  partir  le  bouquet  de 


He  is  a  great  man,  i.e.  a  capable  and  honest  man,  as  I  understand  the 
word  :  one  who  has  dedicated  his  whole  life  to  the  service  of  his 
country,  and  not  from  ambition,  but  for  the  sake  of  duty.  I  will  give 
you  a  trait  of  his  character  connected  with  the  story  I  had  begun  to  tell 
you  of  the  assault.  After  dinner  that  same  day,  the  mine  was  sprung, 
and  nearly  GOO  guns  opened  fire  on  the  fort  we  wished  to  take,  and 
this  continued  the  whole  night.  It  was  such  a  sight  and  such  an 
emotion  as  one  never  forgets.  That  evening  the  Prince,  amid  all 
the  commotion,  went  to  sleep  in  the  trenches,  that  he  might 
personally  direct  the  assault,  which  was  to  begin  at  3  o'clock  the 
same  night. 

We  were  all  there,  and  as  usual  on  the  eve  of  a  battle,  we  all  made 
believe  not  to  think  of  the  morrow  more  than  of  any  other  day,  and 
we  all,  I  am  sure,  at  bottom,  felt  our  hearts  contract  a  little  (and  not 
a  little,  but  a  great  deal)  at  the  thought  of  the  assault.  As  you  know, 
the  time  before  a  fight  is  the  most  disagreeable:  it  is  only  then  that 
one  has  time  to  be  afraid,  and  fear  is  a  most  disagreeable  feeling. 
Towards  morning,  the  nearer  the  moment  came  the  more  the  feeling 
diminished^  and  towards  3  o'clock  when  we  were  all  expecting  to  see 


102  LEO  TOLSTOY 

fusees  qui  etait  le  signal  cle  I'attaque — j'etais  si  bien  dispose 
que  si  Ton  etait  venu  me  dire  que  I'assaut  n'aurait  pas  lieu,  cela 
m'aurait  fait  beaucoup  de  peine.  Et  voila  que  juste  uiie  heure 
avant  le  moment  de  I'assaut  arrive  un  aide  de  camp  du  mare- 
chal  avec  I'ordre  d'oter  le  siege  de  Silistrie.  Je  puis  dire  sans 
craindre  de  me  tromper  que  cette  nouvelle  a  ete  regue  par  tous 
— soldats,  officiers  et  generaux — comme  un  vrai  malheur,  d'au- 
tant  plus  qu'on  savait  par  les  espions,  qui  nous  venaient  tres 
souvent  de  Silistrie^  et  avec  lesquels  j'avais  tres  souvent  I'occa- 
sion  de  causer  moi-meme,  on  savait  que  ce  fort  pris, — chose 
dont  personne  ne  doutait — Silistrie  ne  pouvait  tenir  plus  de 
2  ou  3  jours.  N'est-ce  pas  que  si  cette  nouvelle  devait  faire  de 
la  peine  a  quelqu'un  ce  devait  etre  au  prince,  qui  pendant  toute 
cette  campagne  ayant  fait  toute  chose  pour  le  mieux,  au  beau 
milieu  de  1 'action  vit  venir  le  marechal  sur  son  dos  pour  gater 
les  affaires  et  puis  ayant  la  seule  chance  de  reparer  nos  revers 
par  cet  assaut,  il  re9oit  le  contre  ordre  du  marechal  au  moment 
de  le  commencer.  Eh  bien,  le  prince  n'a  pas  eu  un  moment  de 
mauvaise  humeur,  lui,  qui  est  si  impressionable,  au  contraire  il  a 


a  shower  of  rockets  let  off,  which  was  the  signal  for  the  attack, 
I  was  so  well  inclined  for  it  that  I  should  have  been  much  dis- 
appointed if  any  one  had  come  to  tell  me  that  the  attack  was  not  to 
take  place.  And  there  !  Just  an  hour  before  the  time  for  the  attack, 
an  aide-de-camp  comes  from  the  Field-Marshal  [Paskc'vitch,  who  for 
a  time  took  over  the  supreme  command  of  the  army  of  the  Danube] 
with  orders  to  raise  the  siege  of  Silistria  !  I  can  say,  without  fear  of 
making  a  mistake,  that  this  news  was  received  by  all,  soldiers,  officers, 
and  generals,  as  a  real  misfortune,  the  more  so  as  we  knew  from  the 
spies — who  very  often  came  to  us  from  Silistria,  and  with  whom  I  very 
often  had  occasion  to  speak — that  once  we  had  taken  this  fort  (about 
which  none  of  us  felt  any  doubt)  SiHstria  couhl  not  have  held  out  for 
more  than  2  or  3  days.  Is  it  not  true  that  if  this  news  was  calculated 
to  pain  any  one,  it  must  have  been  the  Prince,  who  having  all  through 
this  campaign  arranged  everything  for  the  best,  yet  saw,  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  action,  the  Field- Marshal  override  him  and  spoil  the 
business  ?  Having  this  one  chance  to  repair  our  reverses  by  this 
assault,  he  received  counter-orders  from  the  Field-Marshal  at  the 
moment  of  commencing  !  Well,  the  Prince  was  not  put  out  of  temper 
for  a  moment.     He  who  is  so  impressionable,  was^  on  the  contrary, 


CRIMEA  103 

ete  content  tie  pouvoir  eviter  cette  boucherie,  dont  il  devait 
porter  la  responsabilite  et  tout  le  temps  de  la  reti-aite  qu'il 
a  dirige  lui-meme,  ne  voulant  passer  qu'avec  le  dernier  des 
soldats,  qui  s'est  faite  avec  un  ordre  et  une  exactitude  remar- 
quables,  il  a  ete  plus  gal  qu'il  n'a  jamais  ete.  Ce  qui  contribuait 
beaucoup  k  sa  bonne  humeur,  c'etait  I'emigration  de  pres  de 
7000  families  bulgares,  que  nous  prenons  avec  pour  le  souvenir 
de  la  ferocite  des  Turcs — ferocite  a  laquelle  malgre  mon  in- 
credulite,  j'ai  ete  oblige  de  croire.  Des  que  nous  avons  quitte 
des  difFerents  villages  bulgares  que  nous  occupions,  les  Turcs  y 
sont  revenus  et  excepte  les  femmes  assez  jeunes  pour  un  harem, 
ils  ont  fait  main  basse  sur  tout  ce  qu'il  y  avait.  II  y  a  un  vil- 
lage dans  lequel  je  suis  alle  du  camp  pour  y  prendre  du  lait 
et  des  fruits  qui  a  ete  extermine  de  la  sorte.  Alors  des  que  le 
prince  avait  fait  savoir  aux  Bulgares  que  ceux  qui  voulaient 
pouvaient  avec  I'armee  passer  le  Danube  et  devenir  sujets 
russes,  tout  le  pays  se  souleve  et  tous  avec  leurs  femmes,  en- 
fants,  chevaux,  betails  arrivent  au  pont, — mais  comrae  il  etait 
impossible  de  les  prendre  tous,  le  prince  a  ete  oblige  de  refuser 
a  ceux  qui  sont  venus  les  derniers  et  11  fallait  voir  comrae  cela 


pleased  to  be  able  to  avoid  that  butchery,  the  responsibility  for  which 
he  would  have  had  to  bear  ;  and  during  the  whole  time  of  the  retreat 
— which  he  directed  personally,  not  wishing  to  cross  (the  Danube) 
before  the  last  of  the  soldiers — which  took  place  with  remarkable 
order  and  exactitude,  he  was  gayer  than  he  has  ever  been.  What 
contributed  much  to  his  good  humour,  was  the  emigration  of  nearly 
7000  Bulgarian  families,  whom  we  took  with  us  as  a  reminder  of  tbe 
ferocity  of  the  Turks  :  a  ferocity  in  which,  in  spite  of  my  incredulity, 
I  was  obliged  to  believe.  As  soon  as  we  quitted  the  different  Bul- 
garian villages  we  had  occupied,  the  Turks  returned  to  them,  and 
except  women  young  enough  for  a  harem,  they  made  a  clean  sweep  of 
all  that  was  in  them.  There  was  one  village  to  which  I  went  from  the 
camp  for  milk  and  fruit,  which  had  been  exterminated  in  this  way. 
So,  as  soon  as  the  Prince  let  the  Bulgarians  know  that  those  who 
wished  to,  could  cross  the  Danube  with  our  army  and  could  become 
Russian  subjects,  the  whole  country  rose,  and  with  their  wives, 
children,  horses  and  cattle,  came  to  the  bridge  :  but  as  it  was  impos- 
sible to  take  them  all,  the  Prince  was  obliged  to  refuse  the  last 
arrivals,  and  you  should  have  seen  how  it  grieved  him  to  do  so.     He 


104  LEO  TOLSTOY 

le  chagrinait.  II  recevait  toutes  les  deputations  qui  venaient 
de  ces  pauvres  gens,  il  causait  avec  chacun  d'eux,  tachait  de 
leur  expliquer  I'impossibilite  de  la  chose,  leur  proposait  de  passer 
sans  leurs  chariots  et  leur  betail  et  en  se  chargeant  de  leurs 
moyens  de  subsistence  jusqu'4  ce  qu'ils  arrivassent  en  Russie, 
payant  de  sa  propre  bourse  des  vaisseaux  particuliers  pour  les 
transporter,  en  un  mot  faisant  tout  son  possible  pour  faire 
du  bien  a  ces  gens. 

Oui,  chere  tante,  je  voudrais  bien  que  votre  prophetic  se 
realise.  La  chose  que  j  'ambitionne  le  plus,  est  d'etre  I'aide 
de  camp  d'un  homme  comme  lui  que  j'aime  et  que  j'estime  du 
plus  profond  de  mon  coeur.  Adieu,  chere  et  bonne  tante ; 
je  baise  vos  mains. 

The  army  retired  to  Bucharest,  and  here,  at  an  officers*' 
ball,  Tolstoy  seized  an  opportunity  to  beg  Gortchakdf  to 
have  him  transferred  to  where  service  would  be  most 
active. 

The  retreat  from  Silistria  took  place  at  the  end  of 
June,  and  on  2nd  August  we  find  Tolstoy  starting  for 
Russia.  On  the  journey  he  fell  ill  and  had  to  lie  up  in 
hospital.  On  13th  November  in  Kishinef  he  renewed 
his  application  for  an  appointment  in  the  Crimea,  and  was 
ordered  to  Sevastopol,  which  he  reached  on  the  20th  of 
that  month.^ 

received  all  the  deputations  which  came  from  these  poor  folk,  and 
spoke  with  them  all :  trying  to  explain  the  impossibility  of  the 
matter,  offering  to  let  them  cross  without  their  carts  and  cattle, 
charging  himself  with  their  support  till  they  could  reach  Russia,  and 
out  of  his  own  purse  paying  for  private  ships  to  transport  them  ;  in  a 
word,  doing  his  very  best  for  the  welfare  of  these  people. 

Yes,  dear  Aunt,  I  should  much  like  your  prophecy  to  come  true. 
What  I  desire  most  is  to  be  aide-de-camp  to  such  a  man  as  he,  whom 
I  love  and  esteem  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  Adieu,  dear  and 
kind  Aunt.     I  kiss  your  hands. 


^  In  this  chapter  the  dates,  when  possible,  are  given  new  style  (I2  days 
later  than  the  Russian  style),  in  order  that  they  may  tally  with  English 
accounts  of  the  Crimean  war. 


CRIMEA  105 

The  situation  there,  at  this  time,  was  the  following. 
The  Allies  had  landed  in  the  Crimea  to  the  north  of 
Sevastopol  on  14th  September,  and  had  defeated 
the  Russian  army  under  Menshikof  on  the  20th 
at  Alma.  Instead  of  marching  straight  into  the  town, 
which  was  almost  undefended,  they  had  then  gone  round 
and  encamped  on  the  south  side,  where  they  remained 
inactive  till  17th  October,  by  which  time  Todleben,  an 
engineer  of  rare  genius,  had  thrown  up  earthworks  and 
mounted  guns  (many  of  them  taken  from  the  Russian  ships 
Menshikof  sank  at  the  entrance  to  the  Roadstead). 
Menshikof  himself  had  practically  abandoned  the  town, 
withdrawing  the  bulk  of  his  army  northward  ;  but  the 
situation  was  saved  by  the  patriotism  of  just  that  section 
of  the  Russian  forces  which  had  been  least  exposed  to  the 
deadening  influence  of  Nicholas  the  First's  militarism, — 
namely  by  the  officers  and  men  of  the  fleet.  Inspired  by 
the  example  of  the  heroic  Admiral  Kornilof  (who  lost 
his  life  during  the  siege)  they  rallied  to  the  defence  with 
a  courageous  devotion  seldom  paralleled.  Their  example 
awoke  enthusiasm  throughout  Russia  and  compelled 
Menshikof  to  supply  reinforcements,  which  enabled  the 
town  to  hold  out  for  eleven  months,  in  spite  of  the  great 
superiority  of  the  Allies  in  rifles,  artillery  and  the 
modern  equipments  of  war  generally. 

Tolstoy  reached  Sevastopol  when  the  defence  was 
already  fully  organised,  and  when  (in  spite  of  the  repulse 
experienced  by  the  Russians  at  Inkerman)  the  garrison 
had  gained  confidence  in  their  powers  of  resistance,  and 
had  settled  down  to  a  dogged  defence. 

Of  the  hospitals,  in  which  the  wounded  saw  one 
another's  limbs  amputated  while  waiting  their  own  turn  ; 
of  the  staff  officers,  who  managed  to  amuse  themselves 
pretty  well  during  the  siege ;  of  the  commissariat  officers, 
flourishing  amid  the  general  havoc ;  as  well  as  of  the  line- 
and  non-commissioned    officers    and  privates,  upon  whom 


106  LEO  TOLSTOY 

the  greatest  hardships  fell,  Tolstoy  gives  vivid  glimpses  in 
the  Sketches  he  wrote  during  the  siege. 

A  fortnight  after  his  arrival  he  writes,  from  somewhere 
outside  the  town,  to  his  brother  Sergius,  apologising  for 
not  having  sent  him  a  letter  sooner,  and  adds  : 

So  much  have  I  learnt,  experienced,  and  felt  this  year  that  I 
positively  do  not  know  what  to  begin  to  describe,  nor  how  to 
describe  it  as  I  wish  to.  .  .  .  Silistria  is  now  ancient  history,  and 
we  have  Sevastopol,  of  which  I  suppose  you  all  read  with  beating 
hearts,  and  where  I  was  four  days  ago.  Well,  how  can  I  tell 
you  all  I  saw  there,  and  where  I  went  and  what  I  did,  and 
what  the  prisoners  and  wounded  French  and  English  say  ;  and 
whether  it  hurts  them  and  hurts  veri/  much}  and  what  heroes  our 
enemies  are,  especially  the  English  ?  I  will  tell  all  that  later 
at  Yasnaya  or  at  Pirogovo ;  and  you  will  learn  much  of  it  from 
me  through  the  press.  How  this  will  happen,  I  will  explain 
later;  but  now  let  me  give  you  an  idea  of  the  position  of  affairs 
in  Sevastopol.  The  town  is  besieged  from  one  side,  the  south, 
where  we  had  no  fortifications  when  the  enemy  approached  it. 
Now  we  have  on  that  side  more  than  500  heavy  guns,  and 
several  lines  of  earthworks,  positively  impregnable.  I  spent 
a  week  in  the  fortress,  and  to  the  last  day  used  to  lose  my  way 
among  that  labyrinth  of  batteries,  as  in  a  wood.  More  than 
three  weeks  ago  the  enemy  advanced  his  trenches  at  one  place 
to  within  200  yards,  but  gets  no  further.  When  he  makes  the 
smallest  advance  he  is  overwhelmed  with  a  hailstorm  of  shot 
and  shell. 

The  spirit  of  the  army  is  beyond  all  desci'iption.  In  the 
times  of  ancient  Greece  there  was  not  such  heroism.  Kornilof, 
making  the  round  of  the  troops,  instead  of  greeting  them  with, 
'  Good  health  to  you,  lads  ! '  says  :  '  If  you  have  to  die,  lads,  will 
you  die  .'' '  and  the  troops  shout,  '  We  '11  die.  Your  Excellency  ! 
Hurrah  ! '  and  they  do  not  say  it  for  effect.  On  every  face  one 
saw  that  it  was  not  jest  but  earnest ;  and  22,000  men  have 
already  fulfilled  the  promise. 

^  This  must  refer  to  some  family  joke,  as  it  occurs  in  other  letters  home, 
apropos  of  people  who  were  killed. 


CRIMEA  107 

A  wounded  soldier,  almost  dying,  told  me  they  captured 
the  24.th  French  Battery  but  were  not  reinforced ;  and  he  wept 
aloud.  A  Company  of  Marines  nearly  mutinied  because  they 
were  to  be  withdrawn  from  batteries  in  which  they  had  been 
exposed  to  shell-fire  for  thirty  days.  The  soldiers  extract  the 
fuses  from  the  shells.  Women  carry  water  to  the  bastions  for 
the  soldiers.  Many  are  killed  and  wounded.  The  priests 
with  their  crosses  go  to  the  bastions  and  read  prayers  under 
fire.  In  one  brigade,  the  24th,  more  than  l60  wounded  men 
would  not  leave  the  front.  It  is  a  wonderful  time  !  Now, 
however,  after  the  24th,  we  have  quieted  down ;  it  has  become 
splendid  in  Sevastopol.  The  enemy  hardly  fires,  and  all  are 
convinced  that  he  will  not  take  the  town ;  and  it  is  really  im- 
possible. ...  I  have  not  yet  succeeded  in  being  in  action  even 
once ;  but  thank  God  that  I  have  seen  these  people  and  live 
in  this  glorious  time.  The  bombardment  of  the  5th  [17 
October,  n.s.]  remains  the  most  brilliant  and  glorious  feat  not 
only  in  the  history  of  Russia,  but  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
More  than  1500  cannon  were  in  action  for  two  days  against  the 
town,  and  not  only  did  not  cause  it  to  capitulate,  but  did  not 
silence  one  two-hundredth  part  of  our  batteries.  Though,  I 
suppose,  this  campaign  is  unfavourably  regarded  in  Russia,  our 
descendants  will  place  it  above  all  others ;  do  not  forget  that 
we,  with  equal  or  even  inferior  forces,  and  armed  only  with 
bayonets,  and  with  the  worst  troops  in  the  Russian  army  (such 
as  the  6th  corps)  are  fighting  a  more  numerous  enemy  aided  by 
a  fleet,  armed  with  3000  cannon,  excellently  supplied  with  rifles 
and  with  their  best  troops.  I  do  not  even  mention  the 
superiority  of  their  Generals. 

Only  our  army  could  hold  its  ground  and  conquer  (we  shall 
yet  conquer,  of  that  I  am  convinced)  under  such  circumstances. 
You  should  see  the  French  and  English  prisoners  (especially 
the  latter) :  they  are  each  one  better  than  the  other — morally 
and  physically  fine  fellows.  The  Cossacks  say  it  is  even  a  pity 
to  cut  them  down,  and  alongside  of  them  you  should  see 
some  Chasseurs  or  others  of  ours  :  small,  lousy,  and  shrivelled 
up. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  how  you  will  get  printed  news  from  me  of 
the  deeds  of  these  lousy  and  shrivelled  heroes.     In  our  artillery 


108  LEO  TOLSTOY 

staffj  consisting,  as  I  think  I  wrote  you,  of  very  good  and 
worthy  men,  a  project  has  been  started  for  publishing  a  military 
newspaper,  in  order  to  maintain  a  good  spirit  in  the  army — a 
cheap  paper  (at  Rs.  3)  and  popularly  written,  so  that  the 
soldiers  may  read  it.  We  have  drawn  up  a  plan  and  submitted 
it  to  the  Prince.  He  likes  the  idea  very  much,  and  has 
submitted  the  project  and  a  specimen  sheet  which  we  also 
wrote,  for  the  Emperor's  sanction.  I  and  Stolypin^  are 
advancing  the  money  for  the  publication,  I  have  been  chosen 
joint  editor  with  a  Mr.  Konstantinof,  who  published  The 
Caucasus,  a  man  experienced  in  such  work.  The  paper  will 
publish  descriptions  of  the  battles  (but  not  such  dry  and 
mendacious  ones  as  other  papers)  courageous  deeds,  biographies, 
and  obituaries  of  good  men,  especially  the  unknown ;  military 
stories,  soldiers'  songs,  and  popular  articles  on  engineering, 
artillery,  etc.  This  plan  pleases  me  very  much  :  in  the  first 
place,  I  like  the  work ;  and  secondly,  I  hope  the  paper  will  be 
useful  and  not  quite  bad.  It  is  as  yet  merely  a  project,  until 
we  know  the  Emperor's  reply,  about  which  I  confess  I  have 
my  fears.  In  the  specimen  sheet  sent  to  Petersburg,  we 
rashly  inserted  two  articles,  one  by  me  and  one  by  Rostovtsef, 
not  quite  orthodox.  For  this  business  I  want  Rs.  1500,  which 
I  have  asked  Valerydn  to  send  me. 

I,  thank  God,  am  well,  and  live  happily  and  pleasantly  since 
I  returned  from  Turkey.  In  general,  my  army  service  divides 
up  into  two  periods :  beyond  the  frontier — horrid  :  I  was  ill, 
poor,  and  lonely.  This  side  of  the  frontier — I  am  well  and 
have  good  friends,  though  I  am  still  poor :  money  simply  runs 
away. 

As  to  writing,  I  do  not  write ;  but,  as  Aunty  teases  me  by 
saying,  '  I  test  myself.'  One  thing  disquiets  me :  this  is  the 
fourth  year  I  live  without  female  society ;  and  I  may  become 
quite  coarse  and  unsuited  for  family  life,  which  I  so  enjoy. 

A  few  days  later  his  battery  was  moved  to  Simferopol, 
a  town  lying  to  the  north  of  Sevastopol,  beyond  the  sphere 
of  actual  fighting. 

*  Father  of  the  present  {1908)  Premier  of  Russia. 


CRIMEA  109 

On  6th  January  (o.s.)  he  wrote  to  his  Aunt:  1855 

*  On  ne  se  bat  plus  en  rase  campagne,  k  cause  de  I'hiver 
qui  est  extraordinairement  rigoureux,  surtout  a  present ;  mais  le 
siege  dure  toujours.  .  .  .  J'avais  parle  je  crois  d'une  occupation 
que  j'avais  en  vue  et  qui  me  souriait  beaucoup  ;  k  present  que 
la  chose  est  decidee,  je  puis  le  dire.  J'avais  I'idee  de  fonder 
un  journal  militaire.  Ce  projet  auquel  j'ai  travaille  avec  le 
concours  de  beaucoup  de  gens  tres  distingues  fut  approuve  par 
le  prince  et  envoye  a  la  decision  de  sa  Majeste,  mais  I'empereur 
a  refuse. 

Cette  deconfiture,  je  vous  I'avoue,  m'a  fait  une  peine  infinie 
et  a  beaucoup  change  mes  plans.  Si  Dieu  veut  que  la  cam- 
pagne de  Crimee  finisse  bien  et  si  je  ne  regois  pas  une  place 
dont  je  sois  content,  et  qu'il  n'y  ait  pas  de  guerre  en  Russie, 
je  quitterai  I'armee  pour  aller  k  Petersbourg  k  I'academie 
militaire.  Ce  plan  m'est  venu,  1°  parce  que  je  voudrais  ne  pas 
abandonner  la  litterature  dont  il  m'est  impossible  de  m'occuper 
dans  cette  vie  de  camp,  et  2°  parce  qu'il  me  parait  que  je 
commence  a  devenir  ambitieux,  pas  ambitieux,  mais  je  voudrais 
faire  du  bien  et  pour  le  faire  il  faut  etre  plus  qu'un  Sub-Lieu- 
tenant; 3°  parce  que  je  vous  verrai  tous  et  tous  mes  amis. 


*  There  is  no  more  fighting  in  the  open  country  on  account  of  the 
winter,  which  is  extraordinarily  rigorous,  particularly  just  now  ;  but 
the  siege  still  goes  on.  ...  I  think  I  have  mentioned  an  occupation 
I  had  in  view,  which  promised  very  well — as  I  may  say,  now  that  it 
is  settled.  I  had  the  idea  of  founding  a  military  newspaper.  This 
project,  at  which  I  worked  with  the  co-operation  of  many  very  dis- 
tinguished men,  was  approved  by  the  Prince  and  submitted  to  His 
Majesty  for  his  consent,  but  he  has  refused. 

This  disappointment  has,  I  confess,  distressed  me  greatly,  and  has 
much  altered  my  plans.  If  God  wills  that  the  Crimean  campaign 
should  end  well,  and  if  I  do  not  receive  an  appointment  that  satisfies 
me,  and  if  there  is  no  war  in  Russia,  I  shall  leave  the  army  and  go 
to  Petersburg  to  the  Military  Academy.  I  have  formed  this  plan, 
(1)  because  I  do  not  want  to  abandon  literature,  at  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  work  amid  this  camp  life  ;  (2)  because  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  am  becoming  ambitious :  not  ambitious,  but  J  want  to  do  some 
good,  and  to  do  it  one  must  be  something  more  than  a  Sub-Lieu- 
tenant, and  (3)  because  I  shall  see  you  all  and  all  my  friends. 


no  LEO  TOLSTOY 

In  May  he  wrote  again  to  his  brother : 

From  Kishinef  on  1st  November  (o.s.)^  I  petitioned  to  be 
sent  to  the  Crimea,  partly  in  order  to  see  this  war,  and  partly 
to  break  away  from  Serzhpoutovs-ky's  staff,  which  I  did  not  like, 
but  most  of  all  from  patriotism,  of  which  at  that  time,  1  confess, 
I  had  a  bad  attack.  I  did  not  ask  for  any  special  appointment, 
but  left  it  to  those  in  authority  to  dispose  of  my  fate.  In  the 
Crimea  I  was  appointed  to  a  battery  in  Sevastopol  itself,  where 
I  passed  a  month  very  pleasantly  amid  simple,  good  companions, 
who  are  specially  good  in  time  of  real  war  and  danger.  In 
December  our  battery  was  removed  to  Simferopol,  and  there  I 
spent  6  weeks  in  a  squire's  comfortable  house,  riding  into  Sim- 
feropol to  dance  and  play  the  piano  with  young  ladies,  and  in 
hunting  wild  goats  on  the  Tchatyrdag  [the  highest  point  of  the 
chain  of  mountains  running  across  the  southern  part  of  the 
Crimea]  in  company  with  officials.  In  January  there  was  a 
fresh  shuffling  of  officers,  and  I  was  removed  to  a  battery 
encamped  on  the  banks  of  the  Belbek,  7  miles  from  Sevasto- 
pol. There  I  got  into  hot  water :  the  nastiest  set  of  officers 
in  the  battery ;  a  Commander  who,  though  good-hearted,  was 
violent  and  coarse;  no  comforts,  and  it  was  cold  in  the  earth 
huts.  Not  a  single  book,  nor  a  single  man  with  whom  one 
could  talk;  and  there  I  received  the  Rs.  1500  [  =  about  £180 
at  that  time]  for  the  newspaper,  sanction  for  which  had  already 
been  refused ;  and  there  I  lost  Rs.  2500,  and  thereby  proved  to 
all  the  world  that  I  am  still  an  empty  fellow,  and  though  the 
previous  circumstances  may  be  taken  into  account  in  mitiga- 
tion, the  case  is  still  a  very,  very  bad  one.  In  March  it  became 
warmer,  and  a  good  fellow,  an  excellent  man,  Brenevsky,  joined 
the  battery.  I  began  to  recover  myself;  and  on  1  April,  at 
the  very  time  of  the  bombardment,  the  battery  was  moved  to 
Sevastopol,  and  I  quite  recovered  myself.  There,  till  15  May 
(o.s.)  I  was  in  serious  danger,  i.e.  for  four  days  at  a  time,  at 
intervals  of  eight  days,  I  was  in  charge  of  a  battery  in  the 
4th  Bastion;  but  it  was  spring  and  the  weather  was  excellent, 
there  was  abundance  of  impressions  and  of  people,  all  the  com- 
forts of  life,  and  we  formed  a  capital  circle  of  well-bred  fellows; 
so  that  those  six  weeks  will  remain  among  my  pleasantest  re- 


CRIMEA  111 

collections.  On  15  May  Gortchakof,  or  the  Commander  of  the 
Artillery,  took  it  into  his  head  to  entrust  me  with  the  formation 
and  command  of  a  mountain  platoon  at  Belbek,  14  miles  from 
Sevastopol,  with  which  arrangement  I  am  up  to  the  present 
extremely  well  satisfied  in  many  respects. 


The  transfer  of  Tolstoy  from  Sevastopol  to  Belbek  was 
not,  as  he  sujiposed  when  he  wrote  this  letter,  a  whim  of 
Gortchakdfs  or  of  the  Commander  of  the  Artillery,  but  a 
result  of  his  having  written  the  first  of  his  three  sketches 
of  the  siege  of  Sevastopol,  Sevastopol  in  December.  The 
article,  though  not  published  in  the  Conicviporary  till 
June,  had  been  read  in  proof  by  the  Emperor  Alexander  II 
[Nicholas  had  died  2nd  March,  n.s.],  and  had  caused 
him  to  give  instructions  to  '  take  care  of  the  life  of 
that  young  man,'  with  the  result  that  Tolstoy  was 
removed  from  Sevastopol.  The  Dowager  Empress  Alex- 
andra Fedorovna  also  read  the  story  and,  it  is  said,  wept 
over  it. 

It  was,  perhnp'^,  at  this  time  (though  I  am  not  sure  of 
the  date)  that  Tolstoy  found  himself  obliged  to  consent  to 
the  sale  of  the  large  wooden  house  in  which  he  had  been 
born,  for  the  wretched  price  of  5000  'assignation  roubles 
(about  dtPlTO).  The  house  was  taken  to  pieces,  and 
removed  to  the  estate  of  the  purchaser,  where  it  still  stands, 
though  not  now  in  use. 

Apropos  of  the  above  letter  it  should  be  mentioned  that 
the  Fourth  Bastion  was  the  one  English  writers  call  '  the 
Flagstaff  Bastion.'  It  formed  the  southernmost  point  of 
the  fortifications,  as  a  glance  at  the  accompanying  map  will 
show,  and  it  was  for  a  long  time  the  })oint  exposed  to  the 
fiercest  fire. 

Throughout  the  siege  Tolstoy  was  accomyjanied  by 
Alexis,  one  of  the  four  serfs  presented  to  the  young 
Tolstoys  when  they  entered  the  University.  This  man 
(who  figures  in   more  than  one  of  Tolstoy''s  works  under 


112 


LEO  TOLSTOY 


the   name    of  Alydsha)    brought  him    his   rations    to    the 
bastion,  a  duty  invohing  considerable  danger.      What  the 


bastions  were  like  in  the  first  months  of  the  siege,  we  learn 
from  the  following  passages  in  the  first  part  oi  Sevastopol : 

,  .  .  You  want  to  get  quickly  to  the  bastions,  especially  to 


CRIMEA  113 

that  Fourth  Bastion  about  which  you  have  been  told  so  many 
and  such  different  tales.  When  any  one  says, '  I  am  going  to  the 
Fourth  Bastion/ a  slight  agitation  or  a  too  marked  indifference  is 
always  noticeable  in  him ;  if  men  are  joking  they  say,  '  You 
should  be  sent  to  the  Fourth  Bastion.'  When  you  meet  some 
one  carried  on  a  stretcher,  and  ask,  '  Where  from  ? '  the  answer 
usually  is,  '  From  the  Fourth  Bastion,'  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Beyond  this  barricade  the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the 
street  are  unoccupied :  there  are  no  signboards,  tlie  doors  are 
boarded  up,  the  windows  smashed  ;  here  a  corner  of  the  walls 
is  knocked  down,  and  there  a  roof  is  broken  in.  The  buildings 
look  like  old  veterans  who  have  borne  much  sorrow  and  priva- 
tion ;  they  even  seem  to  gaze  proudly  and  somewhat  contemp- 
tuously at  you.  On  the  road  you  stumble  over  cannon-balls 
that  lie  about,  and  into  holes  full  of  water,  made  in  the  stony 
ground  by  bombs.  You  meet  and  overtake  detachments  of 
soldiers,  Cossacks,  officers,  and  occasionally  a  woman  or  a  child 
— only  it  will  not  be  a  woman  wearing  a  bonnet,  but  a  sailor's 
wife  wearing  an  old  cloak  and  soldier's  boots.  Farther  along 
the  same  street,  after  you  have  descended  a  little  slope,  you 
will  notice  that  there  are  now  no  houses,  but  only  ruined  walls 
in  strange  heaps  of  bricks,  boards,  clay  and  beams,  and  before 
you,  up  a  steep  hill,  you  see  a  black  untidy  space  cut  up  by 
ditches.  This  space  you  are  approaching  is  the  Fourth  Bastion. 
.  .  .  Here  you  will  meet  still  fewer  people  and  no  women  at 
all,  the  soldiers  walk  briskly  by,  traces  of  blood  may  be  seen 
on  the  road,  and  you  are  sure  to  meet  four  soldiers  carrying  a 
stretcher,  and  on  the  stretcher  probably  a  pale,  yellow  face  and 
a  blood-stained  overcoat.  .  .  . 

The  whiz  of  cannon-ball  or  bomb  near  by,  impresses  you 
unpleasantly  as  you  ascend  the  hill,  and  you  at  once  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  the  sounds  very  differently  from  when 
they  reached  you  in  the  town.  .  ,  .  You  have  hardly  gone  a 
little  way  up,  when  bullets  begin  to  whiz  past  you  right  and 
left,  and  you  will  perhaps  consider  whether  you  had  not  better 
walk  inside  the  trench  which  runs  parallel  to  the  road;  but  the 
trench  is  full  of  such  yellow,  liquid,  stinking  mud,  more  than 
knee  deep,  that  you  are  sure  to  choose  the  road,  especially  as 
everybody  keeps  to  the  road.     After  walking  a  couple  of  hundred 

H 


114  LEO  TOLSTOY 

yards,  you  come  to  a  muddy  place  much  cut  up,  surrounded  by 
gabions,  cellars,  platforms,  and  dug-outs,  and  on  which  large 
cast-iron  cannon  are  mounted,  and  cannon-balls  lie  piled  in 
orderly  heaps.  All  seems  placed  without  any  aim,  connection, 
or  order.  Here  a  group  of  sailors  are  sitting  in  the  battery ; 
here,  in  the  middle  of  the  open  space,  half  sunk  in  mud,  lies  a 
shattered  cannon  ;  and  there  a  foot-soldier  is  crossing  the 
battery,  drawing  his  feet  with  difficulty  out  of  the  sticky  mud. 
Everywhere,  on  all  sides  and  all  about,  you  see  bomb-frag- 
ments, unexploded  bombs,  cannon-balls,  and  various  traces  of 
an  encampment,  all  sunk  in  the  liquid,  sticky  mud.  You  think 
you  hear  the  thud  of  a  cannon-ball  not  far  off",  and  you  seem  to 
hear  the  different  sounds  of  bullets  all  around — some  humming 
like  bees,  some  whistling,  and  some  rapidly  flying  past  with  a 
shrill  screech  like  the  string  of  some  instrument.  You  hear  the 
awful  boom  of  a  shot  which  sends  a  shock  all  through  you,  and 
seems  most  dreadful. 

'  So  this  is  it,  the  Fourth  Bastion  !  This  is  that  terrible, 
truly  dreadful  spot ! '  So  you  think,  experiencing  a  slight  feel- 
ing of  pride  and  a  strong  feeling  of  suppressed  fear.  But  you 
are  mistaken ;  this  is  still  not  the  Fourth  Bastion.  This  is 
only  the  Yazonovsky  Redoubt — comparatively  a  very  safe  and 
not  at  all  dreadful  place.  To  get  to  the  Fourth  Bastion  you 
must  turn  to  the  right,  along  that  narrow  trench,  where  a  foot- 
soldier,  stooping  down,  has  just  passed.  In  this  trench  you 
may  again  meet  men  with  stretchers,  and  perhaps  a  sailor  or  a 
soldier  with  spades.  You  will  see  the  mouths  of  mines,  dug- 
outs into  which  only  two  men  can  crawl,  and  there  you  will  see 
the  Cossacks  of  the  Black  Sea  Battalions,  changing  their  boots, 
eating,  smoking  their  pipes,  and,  in  short,  living.  And  you 
will  see  again  the  same  stinking  mud,  the  traces  of  camp  life, 
and  cast-iron  refuse  of  every  shape  and  form.  When  you  have 
gone  some  three  hundred  steps  more,  you  come  out  at  another 
battery — a  flat  space  with  many  holes,  surrounded  with  gabions 
filled  with  earth,  and  cannons  on  platforms,  and  the  whole 
walled  in  with  earthworks.  Here  you  will  perhaps  see  four  or 
five  soldiers  playing  cards  under  shelter  of  the  breastworks ; 
and  a  naval  officer,  noticing  that  you  are  a  stranger  and  inquisi- 
tive, is  pleased  to  show  you  his  '  household '  and  everything 


CRIMEA  115 

that  can  interest  you.  .  .  .  He  will  tell  you  (but  only  if  you 
ask)  about  the  bombardment  on  the  5th  of  October ;  will  tell 
you  how  only  one  gun  in  his  battery  remained  usable  and  only 
eight  gunners  were  left  of  the  whole  crew^  and  how,  all  the 
same,  next  morning,  the  6th,  he  fired  all  his  guns.  He  will 
tell  you  how  a  bomb  dropped  into  one  of  the  dug-outs  and 
knocked  over  eleven  sailors ;  he  will  show  you  from  an  em- 
brasure the  enemy's  batteries  and  trenches,  which  are  here  not 
more  than  seventy-five  to  eighty-five  yards  distant.  I  am  afraid, 
though,  that  when  you  lean  out  of  the  embrasure  to  have  a 
look  at  the  enemy,  you  will,  under  the  influence  of  the  whizzing 
bullets,  not  see  anything ;  but  if  you  do  see  anything,  you  will 
be  much  surprised  to  find  that  this  whitish  stone  wall  which  is 
so  near  you,  and  from  which  puffs  of  white  smoke  keep  burst- 
ing— that  this  white  wall  is  the  enemy  :  is  him,  as  the  soldiers 
and  sailors  say. 

It  is  even  very  likely  that  the  naval  officer,  from  vanity,  or 
merely  for  a  little  recreation,  will  wish  to  show  you  some  firing. 
'Call  the  gunner  and  crew  to  the  cannon'  ;  and  fourteen  sailors 
— clattering  their  hob-nailed  boots  on  the  platform,  one  putting 
his  pipe  in  his  pocket,  another  still  chewing  a  rusk — quickly 
and  cheerfully  man  the  gun  and  begin  loading. 

Suddenly  the  most  fearful  roar  strikes  not  only  your  ears 
but  your  whole  being,  and  makes  you  shudder  all  over.  It  is 
followed  by  the  whistle  of  the  departing  ball,  and  a  thick  cloud 
of  powder-smoke  envelops  you,  the  platform,  and  the  moving 
black  figures  of  the  sailors.  You  will  hear  various  comments 
by  the  sailors  concerning  this  shot  of  ours,  and  you  will  notice 
their  animation,  the  evidences  of  a  feeling  which  you  had  not 
perhaps  expected :  the  feeling  of  animosity  and  thirst  for 
vengeance  which  lies  hidden  in  each  man's  soul.  You  will 
hear  joyful  exclamations  :  '  It 's  gone  right  into  the  embrasure  ! 
It's  killed  two,  I  think.  .  .  .  There,  they're  carrying  them 
off ! '  '  And  now  he  's  riled,  and  will  send  one  this  way,'  some 
one  remarks  ;  and  really,  soon  after,  you  will  see  before  you  a 
flash  and  some  smoke  ;  the  sentinel  standing  on  the  breastwork 
will  call  out  '  Ca-n-non,'  and  then  a  ball  will  whiz  past  you  and 
squash  into  the  earth,  throwing  out  a  circle  of  stones  and  mud. 
The  commander  of  the  battery  will  be  irritated  by  this  shot* 


116  LEO  TOLSTOY 

and  will  give  orders  to  fire  another  and  another  cannon,  the 
enemy  will  reply  in  like  manner,  and  you  will  experience  inter- 
esting sensations  and  see  interesting  sights.  The  sentinel  will 
again  call  '  Cannon ! '  and  you  will  have  the  same  sound  and 
shock,  and  the  mud  will  be  splashed  round  as  before.  Or  he 
will  call  out '  Mortar  ! '  and  you  will  hear  the  regular  and  rather 
pleasant  whistle — which  it  is  difficult  to  connect  with  the 
thought  of  anything  dreadful — of  a  bomb ;  you  will  hear  this 
whistle  coming  nearer  and  faster  towards  you,  then  you  will 
see  a  black  ball,  feel  the  shock  as  it  strikes  the  ground,  and 
will  hear  the  ringing  explosion.  The  bomb  will  fly  apart  into 
whizzing  and  shrieking  fragments,  stones  will  rattle  into  the 
air,  and  you  will  be  bespattered  with  mud. 

At  these  sounds  you  will  experience  a  strange  feeling  of 
mingled  pleasure  and  fear.  At  the  moment  you  know  the  shot 
is  flying  towards  you,  you  are  sure  to  imagine  that  this  shot  will 
kill  you,  but  a  feeling  of  pride  will  support  you  and  no  one  will 
know  of  the  knife  that  is  cutting  your  heart.  But  when  the 
shot  has  flown  past  and  has  not  hit  you,  you  revive,  and,  though 
only  for  a  moment,  a  glad,  inexpressibly  joyous  feeling  seizes 
you,  so  that  you  feel  some  peculiar  delight  in  the  danger — in 
this  game  of  life  and  death — and  wish  that  bombs  and  balls 
would  fall  nearer  and  nearer  to  you. 

But  again  the  sentinel,  in  his  loud,  thick  voice,  shouts 
'  Mortar  ! '  again  a  whistle,  a  fall,  an  explosion ;  and  mingled 
with  the  last  you  are  startled  by  the  groans  of  a  man.  You 
approach  the  wounded  man  just  as  the  stretchers  are  brought. 
Covered  with  blood  and  dirt  he  presents  a  strange,  not  human, 
appearance.     Part  of  the  sailor's  breast  has  been  torn  away.  .  .  . 

'That's  the  way  with  seven  or  eight  every  day,'  the  naval 
officer  remarks  to  you,  answering  the  look  of  horror  on  your 
face,  and  he  yawns  as  he  rolls  another  yellow  cigarette. 

As  the  siege  progressed,  things  became  worse,  and  in 
the  last  part  of  Sevastopol  Tolstoy,  after  telling  how  one 
of  the  characters  felt  satisfied  wich  himself,  continues  : 

This  feeling,  however,  was  quickly  shaken  by  a  sight  he  came 
upon  in  the  twilight  while  looking  for  the  Commander  of  the 


CRIMEA  117 

bastion.  Four  sailors  stood  by  the  breastwork  holding  by  its 
arms  and  legs  the  bloody  corpse  of  a  man  without  boots  or  coat, 
swinging  it  before  heaving  it  over.  (It  was  found  impossible  in 
some  parts  to  clear  away  the  corpses  from  the  bastions^  and 
they  were,  therefore,  thrown  out  into  the  ditch,  so  as  not  to 
be  in  the  way  at  the  batteries.)  Volodya  felt  stunned  for  a 
moment  when  he  saw  the  body  bump  on  the  top  of  the  breast- 
work and  then  roll  down  into  the  ditch,  but  luckily  for  him 
the  Commander  of  the  bastion  met  him  just  then  and  gave  him 
his  orders,  as  well  as  a  guide  to  show  him  the  way  to  the 
battery  and  to  the  bomb-proof  assigned  to  his  men.  We  Avill 
not  speak  of  all  the  dangers  and  disenchantments  our  hero 
lived  through  that  evening ;  how — instead  of  the  firing  he  was 
used  to,  amid  conditions  of  perfect  exactitude  and  order  which 
he  had  expected  to  meet  with  here  also, — he  found  tAvo  injured 
mortars,  one  with  its  mouth  battered  in  by  a  ball,  the  other 
standing  on  the  splinters  of  its  shattered  platform  ;  how  he 
could  not  get  workmen  to  mend  the  platform  till  the  morning; 
how  not  a  single  charge  was  of  the  weight  specified  in  the 
Handbook  ;  how  two  of  the  men  under  him  were  wounded, 
and  how  he  was  twenty  times  within  a  hair's-breadth  of  death. 
Fortunately  a  gigantic  gunner,  a  seaman  who  had  served  with 
the  mortars  since  the  commencement  of  the  sieere,  had  been 
appointed  to  assist  Volodya,  and  convinced  him  of  the  possi- 
bility of  using  the  mortars.  By  the  light  of  a  lantern,  this 
gunner  showed  him  all  over  the  battery  as  he  might  have 
shown  him  over  his  own  kitchen-garden,  and  undertook  to  have 
everything  right  by  the  morning.  The  bomb-proof  to  which 
his  guide  led  him  was  an  oblong  hole  dug  in  the  rocky  ground, 
25  cubic  yards  in  size  and  covered  with  oak  beams  nearly  2^ 
feet  thick.     He  and  all  his  soldiers  installed  themselves  in  it. 

It  was  during  one  of  his  sojourns  in  the  Fourth  Bastion, 
that  Tolstoy  noted  down  in  his  Diary  the  following 
prayer  : 

Lord,  I  thank  Thee  for  Thy  continual  protection.  How 
surely  Thou  leadest  me  to  what  is  good.  What  an  insignificant 
creature  should  I  be,  if  Thou  abandoned  me  !     Leave  me  not, 


118  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Lord  ;  give  me  what  is  necessary,  not  for  the  satisfaction  of  ray 
poor  aspirations,  but  that  I  may  attain  to  the  eternal,  vast,  un- 
known aim  of  existence,  which  lies  beyond  my  ken. 

It  was  due  to  Tolstoy's  own  choice  that  he  was  exposed 
to  the  rough  life  of  the  bastion,  for  Prince  Gortchakof,  at 
whose  house  he  was  a  constant  visitor,  had  offered  him  an 
appointment  on  his  staff.  This  offer,  which  at  Silistria  he 
had  so  ardently  desired,  Tolstoy  declined,  having  come  to 
the  conclusion,  subsequently  expressed  in  his  writings,  that 
the  influence  exercised  by  the  staff  on  the  conduct  of  a  war 
is  always  pernicious  !  This  opinion  not  only  influenced  his 
conduct,  and  expressed  itself  in  his  novels,  but  fitted  into  a 
general  view  of  life  he  ultimately  arrived  at,  a  view  the 
consequences  of  which  must  be  dealt  with  in  the  sequel  to 
this  work.  For  the  moment,  let  it  suffice  to  mention  that 
whereas  he  shows  a  keen  appreciation  of  Admiral  Kornilofs 
achievement  in  rousing  the  spirit  of  the  garrison,  he  nowhere 
praises  Todleben*'s  achievement  in  organising  the  defence 
of  the  town  and  improvising  that  '  labyrinth  of  batteries  ■* 
in  which  Tolstoy  used  constantly  to  lose  his  way.  He 
says,  for  instance : 

Now  you  have  seen  the  defenders  of  Sevastopol.  .  .  .  The 
principal,  joyous  thought  you  have  bi'ought  away  is  a  conviction 
of  the  strength  of  the  Russian  people ;  and  this  conviction  you 
gained,  not  by  looking  at  all  these  traverses,  breastworks, 
cunningly  interlaced  trenches,  mines  and  cannon,  one  on  top 
of  another,  of  which  you  could  make  nothing;  but  from 
the  eyes,  words  and  actions — in  short,  from  seeing  what  is  called 
the  '  spirit '  of  the  defenders  of  Sevastopol. 

To  everything  a  man  can  do  off  his  own  bat  and  by  his 
own  effort,  Tolstoy  is  keenly  alive  and  sympathetic ;  but 
when  it  comes  to  a  complex,  co-ordinated  plan,  involving 
the  subordination  of  many  parts  to  one  whole,  he  is 
suspicious  or  even  hostile.  Had  he  remained  a  subordinate 
officer,  or  even  a  novelist,  it  would  not  have  been  specially 


CRIMEA  119 

necessary  to  draw  attention  to  this  peculiarity ;  but  that 
we  may  understand  his  later  teachings,  it  is  important  to 
note  all  the  roots  of  feeling  from  which  they  grew,  and 
this  one  among  the  rest. 

To  get  on  however  with  our  tale.  One  evening,  while 
Tolstoy  was  sitting  with  the  adjutants  of  Count  Osten- 
Saken,  Commander  of  the  Garrison,  Prince  S.  S.  Ourousof, 
a  brave  officer  and  first-rate  chess  player  (he  took  part  in 
the  International  Chess  Tournament  of  1862,  in  London) 
and  a  friend  of  Tolstoy's,  entered  the  room  and  wished  to 
speak  to  the  General.  An  adjutant  took  him  to  Osten- 
Saken's  room,  and  ten  minutes  later  Ourousof  passed  out 
again,  looking  very  glum.  After  he  had  gone,  the  adjutant 
explained  that  Ourousof  had  come  to  suggest  that  a  chal- 
lenge should  be  sent  to  the  English  to  play  a  game  of 
chess  for  the  foremost  trench  in  front  of  the  Fifth  Bastion  : 
a  trench  that  had  changed  hands  several  times  and  had 
already  cost  some  hundreds  of  lives.  Osten-Sdken  had 
naturally  refused  to  issue  the  challenge. 

On  16th  August  Tolstoy  took  part  in  the  battle  of  the 
Tchernaya  (Black  River)  in  which  the  Sardinian  contingent, 
which  had  ari'ived  in  May  to  reinforce  the  Allies,  much  dis- 
tinguished itself.  This  last  attempt  to  relieve  Sevastopol 
failed,  as  its  forerunners  had  done.  Three  days  later 
Tolstoy  wrote  to  his  brother  saying  that  he  had  not  been 
hurt,  and  that  '  I  did  nothing,  as  my  mountain  artillery 
was  not  called  on  to  fire.' 

The  end  of  the  siege  was  now  approaching,  and  on  8th 
September  Tolstoy,  having  volunteered  for  service  in  Sevasto- 
pol, reached  the  Star  Fort  on  the  North  Side  of  the  Road- 
stead just  in  time  to  witness  the  capture  of  the  Malahof  by 
the  French,  as  he  has  described  in  Sevastopol  in  Augicst} 

On  the  North  Side  of  the  Roadstead,  at  the  Star  Fort,  near 
noon,  two  sailors   stood   on   the  'telegraph*  mound;   one  of 

^  The  Zth  September,  new  style,  was  2\th  August,  old  style. 


120  LEO  TOLSTOY 

them,  an  officer,  was  looking  at  Sevastopol  through  the  fixed 
telescope.  Another  officer,  accompanied  by  a  Cossack,  had 
just  ridden  up  to  join  him  at  the  big  Signal-post.  .  .  .  Along 
the  whole  line  of  fortifications,  but  especially  on  the  high 
ground  on  the  left  side,  appeared,  several  at  a  time,  with 
lightnings  that  at  times  flashed  bright  even  in  the  noonday 
sun,  puff's  of  thick,  dense,  white  smoke,  that  grew,  taking 
various  shapes  and  appearing  darker  against  the  sky.  These 
cloudSj  showing  now  here  now  there,  appeared  on  the  hills, 
on  the  enemy's  batteries,  in  the  town,  and  high  up  in  the  sky. 
The  reports  of  explosions  never  ceased,  but  rolled  together  and 
rent  the  air. 

Towards  noon  the  puffs  appeared  more  and  more  rarely,  and 
the  air  vibrated  less  with  the  booming. 

'  I  say,  the  Second  Bastion  does  not  reply  at  all  now  ! '  said 
the  officer  on  horseback ;  '  it  is  quite  knocked  to  pieces. 
Terrible ! ' 

'  Yes,  and  the  Malahof,  too,  sends  hardly  one  shot  in  reply  to 
three  of  theirs/  said  he  who  was  looking  through  the  telescope. 
'  Their  silence  provokes  me  !  They  are  shooting  straight  into 
the  Kornilof  Battery,  and  it  does  not  reply.' 

'  But  look  there !  I  told  you  that  they  always  cease  the 
bombardment  about  noon.  It 's  the  same  to-day.  Come,  let 's 
go  to  lunch ;  they  '11  be  waiting  for  us  already.  What 's  the 
good  of  looking  }  ' 

'  Wait  a  bit ! '  answered  the  one  who  had  possession  of  the 
telescope,  looking  very  eagerly  towards  Sevastopol. 

'  What  is  it  ?     What  >  ' 

'  A  movement  in  the  entrenchments^  thick  columns  ad- 
vancing.' 

'  Yes !  They  can  be  seen  even  without  a  glass,  marching  in 
columns.     The  alarm  must  be  given,'  said  the  seaman. 

'  Look  !  look  !     They  've  left  the  trenches  ! ' 

And,  really,  with  the  naked  eye  one  could  see  what  looked 
like  dark  spots  moving  down  the  hill  from  the  French  batteries 
across  the  valley  to  the  bastions.  In  front  of  these  spots  dark 
stripes  were  already  visibly  approaching  our  line.  On  the 
bastions  white  cloudlets  burst  in  succession  as  if  chasing  one 
another.     The  wind  brought  a  sound  of  rapid  small-arm  firing, 


CRIMEA  121 

like  the  beating  of  rain  against  a  window.  The  dark  stripes 
were  moving  in  the  midst  of  the  smoke  and  came  nearer  and 
nearer.  The  sounds  of  firing,  growing  stronger  and  stronger, 
mingled  in  a  prolonged,  rumbling  peal.  Puffs  of  smoke  rose 
more  and  more  often,  spread  rapidly  along  the  line,  and  at  last 
formed  one  lilac  cloud  (dotted  here  and  there  with  little  faint 
lights  and  black  spots)  which  kept  curling  and  uncurling ;  and 
all  the  sounds  blent  into  one  tremendous  clatter. 

'  An  assault ! '  said  the  naval  officer,  turning  pale  and  letting 
the  seaman  look  through  the  telescope. 

Cossacks  galloped  along  the  road,  some  officers  rode  by,  the 
Commander-in-Chief  passed  in  a  carriage  with  his  suite.  Every 
face  showed  painful  excitement  and  expectation. 

'  It 's  impossible  they  can  have  taken  it,'  said  the  mounted 
officer. 

'  By  God,  a  standard !  .  .  .  Look !  look  ! '  said  the  other, 
panting,  and  he  walked  away  from  the  telescope :  *  A  French 
standard  on  the  Malahof ! ' 

The  point  from  which  the  officer  in  the  story,  and 
Tolstoy  himself  in  reality,  watched  the  assault  through  a 
telescope  is  the  spot  marked  'a'  on  the  map  on  page  112. 

The  loss  of  the  IVIalahof  rendered  the  further  defence  of 
the  town  impossible,  and  the  following  night  the  Russians 
blew  up  and  destroyed  such  munitions  of  war  as  they  could 
not  remove  from  the  bastions.  Tolstoy  was  deputed  to 
clear  the  Fifth  and  Sixth  Bastions  before  they  were  aban- 
doned to  the  Allies.  When  telling  me  this  he  added, 
'  The  non-commissioned  officers  could  have  done  the  work 
just  as  well  without  me.'  While  the  destruction  was 
proceeding,  the  Russian  forces  crossed  the  Roadstead  by 
a  pontoon  bridge  which  had  been  constructed  during  the 
siege.  The  town  south  of  the  Roadstead  was  abandoned, 
and  the  defenders  established  themselves  on  the  North  Side, 
where  they  remained  till  peace  was  concluded  in  February 
1856. 

After  the  retreat,  Tolstoy  was  given  the  task  of  collating 
the  twenty  or  more  reports  of  the  action  from  the  Artillery 


122  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Commanders.  This  experience  of  how  war  is  recorded 
produced  in  him  that  supreme  contempt  for  detailed 
military  histories  which  he  so  often  expressed  in  later  years. 
He  says : 

I  regret  that  I  did  not  keep  a  copy  of  those  reports.  They 
were  an  excellent  example  of  that  naivCj  inevitable  kind  of 
military  falsehood,  wUt  of  which  descriptions  are  compiled.  I 
think  many  of  those  comrades  of  mine  who  drew  up  those 
reports,  will  laugh  on  reading  these  lines,  remembering  how, 
by  order  of  their  Commander,  they  wrote  what  they  could 
not  know. 

Carrying  among  other  despatches  the  report  he  had 
himself  compiled,  Tolstoy  was  sent  as  Courier  to  Peters- 
burg ;  and  this  terminated  his  personal  experience  of  war. 
He  was  still  only  Sub-Lieutenant,  his  hopes  of  promotion 
had  come  to  nothing  in  consequence  of  a  suspicion  that  he 
was  the  author  of  some  soldiers'  songs  which  were  sungr 
throughout  the  army  at  this  time.  No  translation  can  do 
justice  to  these  slangy,  topical  satires ;  but  that  the  reader 
may  have  some  idea  of  them,  my  wife  has  put  into  English 
the  following  stanzas  : 

In  September,  the  eighth  day,^ 
From  the  French  we  ran  away, 

For  our  Faith  and  Tsar  ! 

For  our  Faith  and  Tsar ! 

Admiral  Alexander,^  he 
Sank  our  vessels  in  the  sea 

In  the  waters  deep, 

In  the  waters  deep. 

^  The  Battle  of  Alma,  fought  on  8th  September,  old  style  =  20th  September, 
new  style. 

^  Prince  Alexander  M6ishikof,  who  was  Commander-in-Chief  in  the  Crimea 
till  replaced  by  Gortchak6f.  Besides  being  diplomatist  and  General,  he  was 
also  an  Admiral.     In  the  other  verses  he  is  nicknamed  '  M^nshik.' 


CRIMEA  123 

'  Luck  to  all  I  wish,'  he  said  then. 
To  Baktchiseray  ^  he  sped  then  ; 

'  May  you  all  be  blowed  ! 

*  May  you  all  be  blowed ! ' 

Saint  Arnaud  ^  got  out  of  sight ; 
And  in  manner  most  polite, 

Came  round  to  our  back, 

Came  round  to  our  back. 

And  on  Tuesday,  I  'm  afraid 
Had  no  saint  come  to  our  aid, 

He'd  have  bagged  us  all. 

He'd  have  bagged  us  all. 

Our  Liprandi,  it  is  true 
Captured  'trenchments  not  a  few, 

But  to  no  avail ! 

But  to  no  avail ! 

Out  of  Kishinef  a  force 

Was  expected  :  Foot  and  Horse, 

And  at  last  they  came, 

And  at  last  they  came. 

Dannenberg  was  in  command : 
Strictly  told  to  understand 

Not  to  spare  his  men, 

Not  to  spare  his  men. 


Two  Grand  Dukes  a  visit  paid : 
But  the  French,  quite  undismayed, 
Blazed  away  with  shells. 
Blazed  away  with  shells. 


^  After  the  Battle  of  Alma,  Menshikof  retreated  northward  to  Baktchiserdy, 
almost  abandoning  Sevastopol. 

■■'  Saint  Arnaud,  the  French  Commander-in-Chief. 


124  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Some  ten  thousand  men  were  shot? 
From  the  Tsar  they  never  got 

Any  great  reward ! 

Any  great  reward ! 

Then  the  Prince  ^  in  anger  spoke : 
'  Oh  !  our  men  are  wretched  folic : 

'  Why,  they  Ve  turned  their  backs  ! 

'  Why,  they  Ve  turned  their  backs ! 

And  in  this  great  battle's  flare 
Heroes  only  two  there  were : 

The  two  Royal  Dukes  ! 

The  two  Royal  Dukes  ! 

George"'s  Crosses  they  were  given 
And  to  Petersburg  were  driven 

To  be  feted  there  ! 

To  be  feted  there ! 

All  the  priests  with  heads  bent  down 
Prayed  our  God  the  French  to  drown, 
And  there  came  a  storm, 
And  there  came  a  storm  I 

There  arose  a  dreadful  gale, 

But  the  French  just  shortened  sail, 

And  remained  afloat ! 

And  remained  afloat ! 

Winter  came.     Sorties  we  made ; 

Many  soldiers  low  were  laid, 

Near  those  bags  of  sand. 
Near  those  bags  of  sand.^ 


'  Prince  Alexander  Menshikof. 

"^  15ag3  of  sand  were  used  as  temporary  protection  from  behind  which  to 


CRIMEA  125 

For  re'nfoicements  Menshik  prayed  ; 
But  the  Tsar  sent  to  his  aid 

Only  Osten-Sdken, 

Only  Osten-Sdken.^ 

Menshik,  Admiral  so  wise, 
To  the  Tsar  writes  and  replies  : 

'Oh,  dear  Father  Tsar, 

'  Oh,  dear  Father  Tsar. 

*  Saken  is  not  worth  a  <^rain. 

And  your  Royal  youngsters  twain  - 

They  Ve  no  good  at  all ! 

They're  no  good  at  all !' 

Royal  wrath  on  Menshik  fell, 
And  the  Tsar  felt  quite  unwell 

At  the  next  review, 

At  the  next  review. 

Straight  to  heaven  he  did  fare 
(Seems  they  wanted  him  up  there) 

Not  a  whit  too  soon, 

Not  a  whit  too  soon  ! 

As  on  his  deathbed  he  lay ; 
To  his  son^  he  this  did  say  : 

'Now  just  you  look  out, 

'  Now  just  you  look  out ! ' 

And  the  son  to  Menshik  wrote : 
'My  dear  Admiral,  please  note, 

You  may  go  to  hell, 

You  may  go  to  hell ! ' 

*  Count  Osten-Saken  was  sent  to  advise  Menshikof  and  to  report  to  the 
Tsar  on  his  operations. 

^  The  Grand  Dukes  alluded  to  above. 

*  Alexander  II,  who  succeeded  Nicholas  I  on  2nd  March  (n.s. )  1855. 


126  LEO  TOLSTOY 

*  And  in  place  of  you  1 11  name 
Gortchakdf,  you  know,  the  same 

Who  fought  'gainst  the  Turks ! 

Who  fought  'gainst  the  Turks  ! ' 

'  AVith  few  troops  he  '11  go  ahead, 
And  a  pair  of  breeches  red 

Shall  be  his  reward, 

Shall  be  his  reward  ! ' 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  responsibility  for  these  songs, 
which  gave  satirical  expression  to  the  discontent  then  very 
generally  felt,  was  not  entirely  Tolstoy's.  They  originated 
with  a  group  of  officers  on  the  staff  of  Kryzhandvsky,  Com- 
mander of  the  Artillery,  and  some  others  (including  Tolstoy) 
who  used  to  meet  at  Kryzhandvsky's  rooms  almost  daily. 
One  of  this  company  used  to  preside  at  the  piano,  while 
the  others  stood  round  and  improvised  couplets.  In  such 
cases  some  one  has  usually  to  pay  the  piper,  and  that  this 
one  should  have  been  Tolstoy,  was  a  natural  result  both 
of  the  fact  that  he  seems  to  have  been  the  chief  culprit, 
and  of  the  attention  his  literary  work  was  attracting  at 
this  time. 

Another  matter  which  appears  to  have  done  Tolstoy  no 
good  in  the  eyes  of  his  superiors,  was  his  refusal  to  fall  in 
with  a  reprehensible  practice  which  by  long  usage  had 
become  as  well  established  as,  for  instance,  among  our- 
selves, is  the  purchase  of  peerages  by  contributions  to 
Party  funds. 

Those  in  command  of  various  divisions  of  the  army, 
including  the  Commanders  of  Batteries,  used  to  pay  for 
various  things,  such  as  shoes  for  the  horses,  medicine,  office 
expenses,  and  certain  extras  for  the  soldiers,  for  which  no 
official  allowance  was  made  ;  and  the  way  the  money  for 
this  was  obtained  was  by  overestimating  the  cost  and 
quantity  of  stores,  and  of  the  fodder  required  for  the 
horses.      The  difference  between  the  actual  and  estimated 


CRIMEA  127 

cost  supplied  a  revenue  which  different  Commanders  used 
in  different  ways.  Some  spent  it  all  for  the  good  of  the 
service,  though  in  a  manner  not  shown  in  the  accounts  ; 
others  did  not  scruple  to  make  private  profit  of  it. 
Tolstoy,  during  his  command  of  a  battery,  refused  to 
take  a  balance  of  cash  which  had  accumulated,  and  insisted 
on  showing;  it  in  the  accounts.  He  thereby  evoked  the 
displeasure  of  less  scrupulous  Commanders  and  called  down 
upon  himself  a  rebuke  from  General  Kryzhandvsky,  who  did 
not  consider  that  it  lay  with  a  Sub-Lieutenant  in  temporary 
command,  to  attempt  to  upset  so  well-established  a  custom. 
From  his  letters  and  memoirs  we  get  clear  indications  of 
Tolstoy's  feelings  towards  his  brother  officers  ;  his  distaste 
for  the  common  run  of  them,  and  his  preference  for  those 
who  were  gentlemanly.  Here  and  there,  in  memoirs  and 
magazine  articles,  one  finds  records  of  the  impression  he 
in  his  turn  produced  on  his  companions.  One  of  thera 
relates : 

How  Tolstoy  woke  us  all  up  in  those  hard  times  of  war,  with 
his  stories  and  his  hastily  composed  couplets  !  He  was  really 
the  soul  of  our  battery.  When  he  was  with  us  we  did  not 
notice  how  time  flew,  and  there  was  no  end  to  the  general 
gaiety.  .  .  .  When  the  Count  was  away,  when  he  trotted  off  to 
Simferopol,  we  all  hung  our  heads.  He  would  vanish  for  one, 
two  or  three  days.  .  .  .  At  last  he  would  return — the  very 
picture  of  a  prodigal  son !  sombre,  worn  out,  and  dissatisfied 
with  himself.  .  .  .  Then  he  would  take  me  aside,  quite  apart, 
and  would  begin  his  confessions.  He  would  tell  me  all  :  how 
he  had  caroused,  gambled,  and  where  he  had  spent  his  days  and 
nights ;  and  all  the  time,  if  you  will  believe  me,  he  would  con- 
demn himself  and  suffer  as  though  he  were  a  real  criminal. 
He  was  so  distressed  that  it  was  pitiful  to  see  him.  That's  the 
sort  of  man  he  was.  In  a  word,  a  queer  fellow,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  one  I  could  not  quite  understand.  He  was  however  a 
rare  comrade,  a  most  honourable  fellow,  and  a  man  one  can 
never  forget! 


128  LEO  TOLSTOY 

One  who  entered  the  battery  just  after  Tolstoy  left  it, 
says  he  was  remembered  there  as  an  excellent  rider,  first- 
rate  company,  and  an  athlete  who,  lying  on  the  floor,  could 
let  a  man  weighing  thirteen  stone  be  placed  on  his  hands, 
and  could  lift  him  up  by  straightening  his  arms.  At  a 
tug-of-war  (played  not  with  a  rope,  but  with  a  stick)  no 
one  could  beat  him  ;  and  he  left  behind  him  the  recollec- 
tion of  many  witty  anecdotes  told  in  that  masterly  style  of 
which  he  never  lost  the  knack. 

His  private  Diary  bears  witness  to  the  constantly  renewed 
struggle  that  went  on  within  him,  as  well  as  to  his  profound 
dissatisfaction  with  himself.  Here,  for  instance,  is  an  esti- 
mate entered  in  his  Diary  at  the  commencement  of  the  war, 
while  he  was  still  at  Silistria  : 

I  have  no  modesty.  That  is  my  great  defect.  What  am  I  ? 
One  of  four  sons  of  a  retired  lieutenant-colonel^  left  at  seven 
years  of  age  an  orplian  under  the  guardiansliip  of  women  and 
strangers  ;  having  neither  a  social  nor  a  scholarly  education, 
and  becoming  my  own  master  at  seventeen ;  with  no  large 
means,  no  social  position,  and,  above  all,  without  principle  ; 
a  man  who  has  disorganised  his  own  affairs  to  the  last  ex- 
tremity, and  has  passed  the  best  years  of  his  life  without  aim 
or  pleasure ;  and  finally  who  having  banished  himself  to  the 
Caucasus  to  escape  his  debts  and  more  especially  his  bad  habits 
— and  having  there  availed  himself  of  some  connection  that  had 
existed  between  his  father  and  the  general  in  command — passed 
to  the  army  of  the  Danube  at  twenty-six,  as  a  Sub-Lieutenant 
almost  without  means  except  his  pay  (for  what  means  he  has  he 
ought  to  employ  to  pay  what  he  still  owes)  without  influential 
friends,  ignorant  of  how  to  live  in  society,  ignorant  of  the 
service,  lacking  practical  capacity,  but  with  immense  self- 
esteem — such  is  my  social  position.  Let  us  see  what  I  myself 
am  like. 

I  am  ugly,  awkward,  uncleanly,  and  lack  society  education. 
I  am  irritable,  a  bore  to  others,  not  modest,  intolerant,  and  as 
shame-faced  as  a  child.  I  am  almost  an  ignoramus.  What  I  do 
know,  I  have  learned  anyhow,  by  myself,  in  snatches,  without 


CRIMEA  129 

sequence,  without  a  plan,  and  it  amounts  to  very  little.  I  am 
incontinent,  undecided^  inconstant  and  stupidly  vain  and  vehe- 
ment, like  all  characterless  people.  I  am  not  brave.  I  am  not 
methodical  in  life,  and  am  so  lazy  that  idleness  has  become  an 
almost  unconquerable  habit  of  mine. 

I  am  clever,  but  my  cleverness  has  as  yet  not  been  thoroughly 
tested  on  anything;  I  have  neither  practical  nor  social  nor 
business  ability. 

I  am  honest,  that  is  to  say,  I  love  goodness,  and  have  formed 
a  habit  of  loving  it,  and  when  I  swerve  from  it  I  am  dissatisfied 
with  myself  and  return  to  it  gladly;  but  there  is  a  thing  I  love 
more  than  goodness,  and  that  is  fame.  I  am  so  ambitious,  and 
so  little  has  this  feeling  been  gratified,  that  should  I  have  to 
choose  between  fame  and  goodness,  I  fear  I  may  often  choose 
the  former. 

Yes,  I  am  not  modest,  and  therefore  I  am  proud  at  heart, 
though  shame-faced  and  shy  in  society. 

That  is  a  grossly  unfair  estimate  of  himself,  but  shows 
just  that  sort  of  eager  injustice  to  any  one  who  fails  to 
reach  the  high  standard  he  sets  up,  that  has  always 
characterised  him.  His  account  is  inaccurate  in  details. 
For  instance,  he  was  not  seven,  but  nearly  nine  when  his 
father  died.  He  had  not  wrecked  his  affairs  to  the  extent 
he  suggests.  Though  his  studies  had  been  desultory,  he 
had  read  widely,  with  a  quick  understanding  and  a  reten- 
tive memory.  He  was  master  of  the  Russian,  French 
and  German  languages,  besides  having  some  knowledge  of 
English,  Latin,  Arabic,  and  Turco-Tartar.  (Later  in  life 
he  added  a  knowledge  of  Italian,  Greek  and  Hebrew.)  As 
for  not  yet  having  tested  his  cleverness  :  he  had  published 
stories  for  which  the  editor  of  the  best  Russian  magazine 
paid  him  the  rate  accorded  to  the  best-known  writers ; 
while  his  awkwardness  in  society  did  not  depend  on  ignor- 
ance ;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  grown  up  among  people  who 
paid  much  attention  to  manners,  and  he  was  himself  gifted 
with  social  tact,  which  became  plainly  apparent  as  soon  as 
he  attained  self-confidence.       Any  defect  in  his  manners 

I 


130  LEO  TOLSTOY 

must  have  been  merely  a  result  of  that  nervous  shyness 
natural  to  highly-strung,  sensitive  natures,  conscious  of 
powers  of  a  kind  society  recognises  but  scantily.  Yet,  when 
all  is  said,  his  description  gets  home  :  over-emphatic  and 
unfair,  like  much  of  his  other  writing,  it  still  leaves  you  in 
no  doubt  as  to  what  he  meant,  and  hits  the  real  points  of 
weakness  in  the  victim  he  is  flaying. 

On  5th  March  1855  (old  style)  when  he  was  just 
recovering  from  that  fit  of  depression  at  Belbek  which,  as 
already  mentioned,  drove  him  to  gamble,  he  writes  in  his 
Diary : 

A  conversation  about  Divinity  and  Faith  has  suggested  to  me 
a  great,  a  stupendous  idea,  to  the  realisation  of  which  I  feel 
myself  capable  of  devoting  my  life.  This  idea  is  the  founding 
of  a  new  religion  corresponding  to  the  present  state  of  man- 
kind :  the  religion  of  Christianity,  but  purged  of  dogmas  and 
mysticism  :  a  practical  religion,  not  promising  future  bliss,  but 
giving  bliss  on  earth.  I  understand  that  to  accomplish  this 
the  conscious  labour  of  generations  will  be  needed.  One 
generation  will  bequeath  the  idea  to  the  next,  and  some  day 
fanaticism  or  reason  will  accomplish  it.  Deliberately  to  promote 
the  union  of  mankind  by  religion — that  is  the  basic  thought 
which,  I  hope,  will  dominate  me. 

In  that  passage  one  has,  quite  clearly  stated  before  he 
was  twenty-seven,  the  main  idea  which  actuated  Tolstoy 
from  the  age  of  fifty  onwards.  Already  by  the  literary 
work  he  accomplished  amid  the  bustle  and  excitement  of 
the  siege,  he  was  half  consciously  moving  in  the  direction 
that  allured  him.  During  the  three  months  that  elapsed 
between  leaving  Bucharest  and  reaching  Sevastopol,  he 
wrote  part  of  The  Wood-Fcllmg;  a  sketch  of  an  expedition 
such  as  he  had  taken  part  in  in  the  Caucasus  ;  and  during 
the  siege  of  Sevastoj)ol  he  wrote  the  first  two  parts  of 
Sevastopol  and  began  Youth,  a  sequel  to  Childhood  and 
Boyhood. 


CRIMEA  131 

It  was  Sevastopol  that  first  brought  European  fame 
to  Tolstoy.  When,  as  already  mentioned,  Sevastopol  in 
December  appeared  in  the  June  Contemporary, 
the  Emperor  ordered  it  to  be  translated  into 
French,  That  same  month  Tolstoy  completed  and  de- 
spatched The  Wood- Felling-^  mivXy  he  sent  o^ Sevastopol  in 
May.  Here  once  again  the  Censor  exercised  his  malignant 
power,  and  Pandef  wrote  to  Tolstoy  from  Petersburg : 

In  my  letter  delivered  to  you  by  Stolypin,  I  wrote  that  your 
article  has  been  passed  by  the  Censor  with  unimportant  altera- 
tions, and  begged  you  not  to  be  angry  with  me  that  I  was 
obliired  to  add  a  few  words  at  the  end  to  soften,  .  .  .  3000 
copies  of  the  article  had  already  been  printed  off,  when  the 
Censor  suddenly  demanded  it  back,  stopped  the  appearance  of 
the  number  (so  that  our  August  number  only  appeared  in 
Petersburg  on  18  August)  and  submitted  it  to  Poiishkin,  Presi- 
dent of  the  Committee  of  Censors.  If  you  know  Poiishkin,  you 
will  be  able  partly  to  guess  what  followed.  He  flew  into  a  rage, 
was  very  angry  with  the  Censor,  and  with  me  for  submitting 
such  an  article  to  the  Censor,  and  altered  it  with  his  own  hand, 
.  .  .  On  seeing  these  alterations  I  was  horror-struck,  and  wished 
not  to  print  the  article  at  all,  but  Poiishkin  explained  to  me 
that  I  must  print  it  in  its  present  shape.  There  was  no  help 
for  it,  and  your  mutilated  article  will  appear  in  the  September 
number,  but  without  your  initials — which  I  could  not  bear  to 
see  attached  to  it  after  that,  .  .  . 

Now  a  word  as  to  the  impression  your  story  produces  on  all 
to  whom  I  have  read  it  in  its  original  form.  Every  one  thinks 
it  stronger  than  the  first  part,  in  its  deep  and  delicate  analysis 
of  the  emotions  and  feelings  of  people  constantly  face  to  face 
with  death,  and  in  the  fidelity  with  which  the  types  of  the  line- 
officers  are  caught,  their  encounters  with  the  aristocrats,  and 
the  mutual  relations  of  the  two  sets.  In  short,  all  is  excellent, 
all  is  drawn  in  masterly  fashion ;  but  it  is  all  so  overspread  with 
bitterness,  is  so  keen,  so  venomous,  so  unsparing  and  so  cheer- 
less, that  at  the  present  moment  when  the  scene  of  the  story 
is  almost  sacred  ground,  it  pains  those  who  are  at  a  distance 


132  LEO  TOLSTOY 

from  it ;  and  the  story  may  even  produce  a  very  unpleasant 
impression. 

The  Wood-Felling,  with  its  dedication  to  Tourgenef,  will  also 
appear  in  September  (Tourgenef  begs  me  to  thank  you  very,  very 
much  for  thinking  of  him  and  paying  him  this  attention).  .  .  . 
In  this  story  also  (which  passed  three  Censors  :  the  Caucasian, 
the  Military,  and  our  Civil  Censor)  the  types  of  officers  have 
been  tampered  with,  and  unfortunately  a  little  has  been 
struck  out. 

Tolstoy''s  dedication  of  The  Wood-Felling  to  Tourgenef 
proceeded  from  his  admiration  for  that  writer's  A  Sports- 
man's Sketches,  which  to  the  present  time  he  continues  to 
value  very  highly,  considering  Tourgenef's  descriptions  of 
Nature  in  that  book  not  merely  excellent,  but  inimitable  by 
any  one  else. 

Nekrasof  wrote  to  Tolstoy  in  September,  about  Sevas- 
topol in  August,  saying : 

The  revolting  mutilation  of  your  article  quite  upset  me. 
Even  now  I  cannot  think  of  it  without  regret  and  rage.  Your 
work  willj  of  course,  not  be  lost  ...  it  will  always  remain  as 
proof  of  a  strength  able  to  utter  such  profound  and  sober  truth 
under  circumstances  amid  which  few  men  would  have  retained 
it.  It  is  just  what  Russian  society  now  needs  :  the  truth — the 
truth,  of  which,  since  Gogol's  death,  so  little  has  remained  in 
Russian  literature.  You  are  right  to  value  that  side  of  your 
gifts  most  of  all.  Truth — in  such  form  as  you  have  introduced 
it  into  our  literature — is  something  completely  new  among  us. 
I  do  not  know  another  writer  of  to-day  who  so  compels  the 
reader  to  love  him  and  sympathise  heartily  with  him,  as  he  to 
whom  I  now  write  ;  and  I  only  fear  lest  time,  the  nastiness  of 
life,  and  the  deafness  and  dumbness  that  surround  us,  should 
do  to  you  what  it  has  done  to  most  of  us,  and  kill  the  energy 
without  which  there  can  be  no  writer — none,  at  least,  such  as 
Russia  needs.  You  are  young :  changes  are  taking  place 
which,  let  us  hope,  may  end  well,  and  perhaps  a  wide 
field  lies  before  you.  You  are  beginning  in  a  way  that 
compels  the  most  cautious  to  let  their  expectations  travel 
far.  .  .  . 


CRIMEA  133 

The  Wood -Felling  has  passed  the  Censor  pretty  fairly, 
though  from  it  also  some  valuable  touches  have  disappeared. 
...  In  that  sketch  there  are  many  astonishingly  acute 
remarks,  and  it  is  all  new,  interesting,  and  to  the  point. 
Do  not  neglect  such  sketches.  Of  the  common  soldier  our 
literature  has  as  yet  not  spoken,  except  frivolously. 

Tourgenef,  writing  from  his  estate  at  Sp^ssky  to 
Panaef,  said  : 

Tolstoy's  article  about  Sevastopol  is  wonderful !  Tears  came 
into  my  eyes  as  I  read  it,  and  I  shouted,  Hurrah  !  I  am  greatly 
flattered  by  his  wish  to  dedicate  his  new  tale  to  me.  .  .  Here 
his  article  has  produced  a  general  furore. 

By  the  side  of  these  contemporary  estimates  one  may 
set  Kropdtkin's  appreciation  written  fifty  years  later : 

All  his  powers  of  observation  and  war-psychology,  all  his  deep 
comprehension  of  the  Russian  soldier,  and  especially  of  the 
plain  un-theatrical  hero  who  really  wins  the  battles,  and  a  pro- 
found understanding  of  that  inner  spirit  of  an  army  upon  which 
depend  success  and  failure :  everything,  in  short,  which  de- 
veloped into  the  beauty  and  the  truthfulness  of  War  and  Peace, 
was  already  manifested  in  these  sketches,  which  undoubtedly 
represented  a  new  departure  in  war-literature  the  world  over. 

It  is  worth  while  to  note  the  very  different  conclusions 
to  which  Kinglake,  the  historian  of  this  war,  and  Tolstoy, 
its  novelist,  arrived.  Kinglake  holds  the  war  to  have  been 
unnecessary,  and  attributes  it  chiefly  to  the  unscrupulous 
ambition  of  Napoleon  III ;  yet  he  blames  the  Peace  Party 
very  severely  for  protesting  against  it,  for  had  they  not 
done  so  Nicholas,  he  thinks,  would  not  have  dared  to  act 
aggressively.  Kinglake  feels  that  negotiations  between 
rulers  and  diplomatists  are  important,  and  that  anything 
that  prevents  a  Government  from  speaking  with  authority, 
makes  for  confusion  and  disaster. 

Tolstoy,  on  the  other  hand  (if  I  may  anticipate  and 
speak  of  conclusions  not  definitely  expressed  by  him  till 
much  later),  regards  all  war  and   preparation    for  war  as 


134  LEO  TOLSTOY 

immoral,  and  wishes  this  conviction  to  become  so  strong 
and  so  general  that  it  will  be  impossible  for  any  future 
Napoleon  to  plunge  five  nations  into  war  to  gratify  his 
own  ambition. 

Kinglake  understands  things  as  they  are,  and  knows 
how  easy  it  is  to  do  harm  with  good  intentions,  but  is 
somewhat  blind  to  the  trend  of  human  progress,  and  as 
to  what  the  aim  before  us  should  be.  Tolstoy,  on  the 
contrary,  is  chiefly  concerned  about  the  ultimate  aim,  and 
about  the  state  of  mind  of  the  individual.  The  actual 
working  of  our  political  system  and  international  relations 
are  things  he  ignores.  The  English  writer  sees  clearly 
what  is,  and  cares  little  about  what  should  be ;  the 
Russian  writer  cares  immensely  about  what  should  be,  and 
rather  forgets  that  it  can  only  be  approached  by  slow  and 
difficult  steps,  to  take  which  surefootedly,  needs  an 
appreciation  of  things  as  they  are. 

Neither  of  them  manages  to  say  the  word  which  would 
synthesize  their  divergent  views :  namely,  that  no  self- 
respecting  people  should  support  or  tolerate  as  rulers, 
men  who  seek  to  gain  national  advantages  by  means  not 
strictly  fair,  honest  and  even  generous.  That  is  the  real 
key  to  the  world's  future  peace.  Kinglake's  appeal  to  us 
not  to  hamper  the  government  that  represents  us,  and 
Tolstoy's  appeal  to  us  not  to  spend  our  lives  in  preparing 
to  slay  our  fellow  men,  can  both  be  met  in  that  way,  and, 
I  think,  in  that  way  alone. 

For  an  ambitious  young  officer  actually  engaged  in  a 
war,  related  to  the  Commander-in-Chief,  and  favourably 
noticed  by  the  Emperor,  even  partially  to  express  dis- 
approval of  war,  was  difficult ;  and  Tolstoy  has  told  me 
that,  contending  with  his  desire  to  tell  the  truth  about  things 
as  he  saw  it,  he  was  at  the  same  time  aware  of  another 
feeling  prompting  him  to  say  what  was  expected  of  him. 

He,  however,  like  the  child  in  Andersen's  story  who  sees 
that  the  king  has  nothing  on,  when  every  one  else  is  in 
ecstasies  over  the  magnificence  of  the  monarch's  robes,  had 


CRIMEA  135 

the  gift  of  seeing  things  with  his  own  eyes,  as  well  as  a 
great  gift  of  truthfulness.  These  were  the  qualities  which 
ultimately  made  him  the  greatest  literary  power  of  his 
century;  and  in  spite  of  his  own  hesitation  and  the 
Censor's  mutilations,  we  may  still  read  the  description  he 
then  wrote  of  the  truce  in  which  the  French  and  Russian 
soldiers  hobnobbed  together  in  friendship,  a  description 
closing  with  these  words  : 

White  flags  are  on  the  bastions  and  parallels;  the  flowery 
valley  is  covered  with  corpses;  the  beautiful  sun  is  sinking 
towards  the  blue  sea ;  and  the  undulating  blue  sea  glitters  in 
the  golden  rays  of  the  sun.  Thousands  of  people  crowd  to- 
gether, look  at,  speak  to,  and  smile  at  one  another.  And  these 
people — Christians  confessing  the  one  great  law  of  love  and 
self-sacrifice — seeing  what  they  have  done,  do  not  at  once  fall 
repentant  on  their  knees  before  Him  who  has  given  them  life 
and  laid  in  the  soul  of  each  a  fear  of  death  and  a  love  of  good- 
ness and  of  beauty^  and  do  not  embrace  like  brothers  with  tears 
of  joy  and  happiness. 

The  white  flags  are  lowered^  again  the  engines  of  death  and 
suffering  are  sounding,  again  innocent  blood  flows,  and  the  air 
is  filled  with  moans  and  curses. 

In  Sevastopol,  and  in  Tennyson's  Charge  of  the  Light 
Brigade  (with  its  rhymes  about  'hundred'  and  'thun- 
dered,' and  its  panegyric  of  those  who  knew  it  was  not 
their  business  to  think,  and  at  whom  'all  the  world 
wondered '),  we  have  two  typical  expressions  of  conflicting 
views  on  war :  the  view  of  a  man  who  knew  it  from  the 
classics  and  was  Poet  Laureate,  and  the  view  of  a  man  who 
was  in  the  thick  of  it,  and  whose  eyes  were  connected  with 
his  brain. 

Thirty-four  years  later  Tolstoy  wrote  a  Preface  to  a 
fellow-officer's  Recollections  of  Sevastopol.  It  could  not 
pass  the  Censor,  but  has  been  used  as  a  Preface  to  his 
own  sketches  of  war  in  the  English  version  of  Sevastopol, 
translated  by  my  wife  and  myself,  and  I  cannot  conclude 
this  chapter  better  than  by  quoting  a  few  sentences  from  it. 


136  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Speaking  of  the  position   of  a  young  officer  engaged  in 
the  Crimean  war,  he  says : 

To  the  first  question  that  suggests  itself  to  every  one,  Why  did 
he  do  it  ?  Why  did  he  not  cease,  and  go  away  ? — the  author 
does  not  reply.  He  does  not  say,  as  men  said  in  olden  times 
when  they  hated  their  enemies  as  the  Jews  hated  the  Philis- 
tines, that  he  hated  the  Allies ;  on  the  contrary,  he  here  and 
there  shows  his  sympathy  for  them  as  for  brother  men. 

Nor  does  he  speak  of  any  passionate  desire  that  the  keys  of 
the  Church  at  Jerusalem  should  be  in  our  hands,  or  even  that 
our  fleet  should,  or  should  not,  exist.  You  feel  as  you  read,  that 
to  him  the  life  and  death  of  men  are  not  commensurable  with 
questions  of  politics.  And  the  reader  feels  that  to  the  question  : 
Why  did  the  author  act  as  he  did  ? — there  is  only  one  answer ; 
It  was  because  I  enlisted  while  still  young,  or  before  the  war 
began,  or  because  owing  to  inexperience  I  chanced  to  slip  into 
a  position  from  which  I  could  not  extricate  myself  without 
great  effort.  I  was  entrapped  into  that  position,  and  when 
they  obliged  me  to  do  the  most  unnatural  actions  in  the  world, 
to  kill  my  brother  men  who  had  done  me  no  harm,  I  preferred 
to  do  this  rather  than  to  suffer  punishment  and  disgrace.  .  .  . 
One  feels  that  the  author  knows  there  is  a  law  of  God  :  love 
thy  neighbour,  and  therefore  do  not  kill  him, — a  law  which 
cannot  be  repealed  by  any  human  artifice. 

The  merit  of  the  book  consists  in  that.  It  is  a  pity  it  is  only 
felt,  and  not  plainly  and  clearly  expressed.  Sufferings  and 
deaths  are  described ;  but  we  are  not  told  what  caused  them. 
Thirty-five  years  ago — even  that  was  well,  but  now  something 
more  is  needed.  We  should  be  told  what  it  is  that  causes 
soldiers  to  suffer  and  to  die, — that  we  may  know,  and  under- 
stand, and  destroy  these  causes. 

*  War !  How  terrible,'  people  say,  *  is  war,  with  its  wounds, 
bloodshed,  and  deaths  !  We  must  organise  a  Red  Cross  Society 
to  alleviate  the  wounds,  sufferings  and  pains  of  death.'  But, 
truly,  what  is  dreadful  in  war  is  not  the  wounds,  sufferings  and 
deaths.  The  human  race  that  has  always  suffered  and  died, 
should  by  this  time  be  accustomed  to  suffering  and  death,  and 
should  not  be  aghast  at  them.     Without  war  people  die  by 


CRIMEA  137 

famine,  by  inundations,  and  by  epidemics.  It  is  not  suffering 
and  death  that  are  terrible,  but  it  is  that  which  allows  people  to 
inflict  suffering  and  death.   .  .  . 

It  is  not  the  suffering  and  mutilation  and  death  of  man's 
body  that  most  needs  to  be  diminished, — but  it  is  the  mutila- 
tion and  death  of  his  soul.  Not  the  Red  Cross  is  needed, 
but  the  simple  cross  of  Christ  to  destroy  falsehood  and 
deception.  .  .  . 

I  was  finishing  this  Preface  when  a  cadet  from  the  Military 
College  came  to  see  me.  He  told  me  that  he  was  troubled  by 
religious  doubts.  .  .  .  He  had  read  nothing  of  mine.  I  spoke 
cautiously  to  him  of  how  to  read  the  Gospels  so  as  to  find  in 
them  the  answers  to  life's  problems.  He  listened  and  agreed. 
Towards  the  end  of  our  conversation  I  mention  wine,  and 
advised  him  not  to  drink.  He  replied  :  'but  in  military  service 
it  is  sometimes  necessary.'  I  thought  he  meant  necessary  for 
health  and  strength,  and  I  intended  triumphantly  to  overthrow 
him  by  proofs  from  experience  and  science,  but  he  continued  : 
'Why,  at  Geok-Tepe,  for  instance,  when  Skobelef  had  to 
massacre  the  inhabitants,  the  soldiers  did  not  wish  to  do  it,  but 
he  had  drink  served  out  and  then.  .  .  .'  Here  are  all  the 
horrors  of  war — they  are  in  this  lad  with  his  fresh  young  face, 
his  little  shoulder-straps  (under  which  the  ends  of  his  hood  are 
so  neatly  tucked),  his  well-cleaned  boots,  his  naive  eyes,  and 
with  so  perverted  a  conception  of  life. 

This  is  the  real  horror  of  war  ! 

What  millions  of  Red  Cross  workers  could  heal  the  wounds 
that  swarm  in  that  remark — the  result  of  a  whole  system  of 
education ! 


CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  IV 

Birukof. 

Behrs. 

Bitovt. 

Nekrasof's  letters  to  Tolstoy,  JVitm,  February  1898. 

Also,  Tolstoy's  Sevastopol,  and  his 

Preface  to  Ershof  s  Recollections  of  Sevastopol. 

Kropotkin,  Ideals  and  Realities  in  Russian  Literature :  London,  1905, 


CHAPTER  V 

PETERSBURG  ;   LOVE   AFFAIR  ;    DROUZHININ 

Petersburg.  Tourgenef.  The  Contemporary.  Death  of  his 
brother  Demetrius.  Drouzhmin.  The  Behrs.  Love  aflFairs. 
Engagement  with  V.V.A.  Illness.  Leaves  the  army.  En- 
gagement broken  off.  Correspondence  with  Tourge'nef. 
Writings.  Drouzhinin's  criticism  of  Youth  and  of  Tolstoy's 
style.  Books  that  influenced  him.  Emancipation  of  serfs. 
Poushkin.     Self-condemnation  in  his  Confession. 

A  NUMBER  of  distinguished  writers  have  recorded  their 
opinions  of  the  talented  young  officer  who  appeared  in 
Petersburg  before  the  war  was  quite  over,  and  im- 
mediately entered  the  fraternity  then  supporting  the 
Contemporary.  From  their  memoirs  one  sees  what 
Tolstoy  was  like  at  this,  perhaps  the  stormiest  and  least 
satisfactory  period  of  his  life. 

The  Contemporary  was  a  monthly  review  founded  by 
Poushkin  and  Pletnef  in  1836.  It  passed  in  1847  to 
Panaef  and  the  poet  Nekrasof,  and  when  Tolstoy  began  to 
write,  was  recognised  as  the  leading  and  most  progressive 
Russian  literary  periodical.  Its  chief  contributors  formed 
an  intimate  group,  united  by  close  personal  acquaintance, 
by  sympathy  with  the  Emancipation  movement  then 
making  itself  felt,  and  also  by  a  common  agreement  (not 
it  is  true  very  strictly  or  very  permanently  observed)  to 
write  exclusively  for  the  Contemporary.  The  point  to  be 
noticed  is  that  the  circle  Tolstoy  entered  consisted  of  a 
friendly,  sociable  group  of  people  who  considered  themselves 

U8 


PETERSBURG  139 

ardent  reformers;  and  that  though  Tolstoy''s  talent  and 
his  wish  to  have  his  works  published,  threw  him  and  them 
together,  he  never  appears  to  have  had  the  least  inclination 
to  co-operate  on  that  footiiig  of  mutual  give-and-take 
toleration  which  is  so  essential  in  public  life.  Certainly 
he  never  became  friendly  with  the  more  advanced  men, 
Tchernyshevsky,  Mihaylof,  and  the  ultra-democratic  Dob- 
rolubof,  who  were  intent  on  spreading  democratic  and 
socialistic  ideas  in  Russia. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  this  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  he  was  an  aristocrat  and  that  they  were  democrats ; 
but  one  has  to  go  deeper  than  that  for  the  explanation, 
which  lies,  to  a  considerable  extent,  in  the  fact  that  the 
advanced  Russian  Radicals  were,  for  the  most  part, 
admirers  of  Governmental  Jacobinism,  whereas  Tolstoy 
has  from  the  very  start  tended  to  be  a  No-Government 
man,  an  Anarchist,  and  has  objected  to  linking  himself 
closely  with  any  group,  since  such  alliance  always  implies 
some  amount  of  compromise,  and  some  subordination  of 
one''s  own  opinions. 

The  poet  Fet,  himself  a  young  officer,  made  Tolstoy's 
acquaintance  at  this  time.  A  couple  of  years  later  he 
purchased  an  estate  at  no  very  great  distance  from  Yasnaya 
Polyana,  and  became  a  friend  of  Tolstoy's — one  in  fact 
of  the  very  few  people,  not  of  his  own  family,  with  whom 
the  latter  ever  formed  a  close  personal  friendship. 

His  first  acquaintance  with  Tolstoy  was  however  hardly 
auspicious.  Calling  on  Tourgenef  in  St.  Peters- 
burg at  ten  o'clock  one  morning,  he  saw  an  officer's 
sword  hanging  in  the  hall,  and  asked  the  man-servant 
whose  it  was.  '  It 's  Count  Tolstoy's  sword,'  replied  the 
man.  *  He  is  sleeping  in  the  drawing-room.  Ivan  Ser- 
geyevitch  [Tourgenef]  is  having  breakfast  in  the  study.' 
During  Fet's  visit  of  an  hour's  duration,  he  and  his  host 
had  to  converse  in  low  tones  for  fear  of  waking  Tolstoy. 
'  He  is  like  this  all  the  time,'  said  Tourgenef.      '  He  came 


140  LEO  TOLSTOY 

back  from  his  Sevastopol  battery  ;  put  up  here,  and  is  going 
the  pace.  Sprees,  gipsy-girls  and  cards  all  night  long — 
and  then  he  sleeps  like  a  corpse  till  two  in  the  afternoon. 
At  first  I  tried  to  put  the  break  on,  but  now  I  Ve  given  it 
up,  and  let  him  do  as  he  likes.' 

Fet  tells  us  that  as  soon  as  he  met  Tolstoy  he  noticed 
his  instinctive  defiance  of  all  accepted  opinions ;  and  at 
Nekrasofs  lodgings,  the  first  time  he  saw  Tolstoy  and 
Tourgenef  together,  he  witnessed  the  desperation  to  which 
the  former  reduced  the  latter  by  his  biting  retorts. 

*  I  can't  admit/  said  Tolstoy,  *  that  what  you  say  expresses 
your  convictions.  If  I  stand  at  the  door  with  a  dagger  or  a 
sword,  and  say,  "  While  I  am  alive  no  one  shall  enter  here/' 
that  shows  conviction.  But  you,  here,  try  to  conceal  the  true 
inwardness  of  your  thoughts  from  one  another,  and  call  that 
conviction  ! ' 

*  Why  do  you  come  here  ? '  squeaked  Tourgenef,  panting,  his 
voice  rising  to  a  falsetto  (as  always  happened  when  he  was 
disputing).  '  Your  banner  is  not  here !  Go  !  Go  to  the  salon 
of  Princess  B ! ' 

*  Why  should  I  ask  you,  where  I  am  to  go  }  Besides,  empty 
talk  won't  become  conviction,  merely  because  I  am,  or  am  not 
here/  replied  Tolstoy. 

Though  he  cared  little  for  politics,  Fet's  sympathies 
inclined  to  the  Conservative  side,  and  he  found  himself  in 
accord  with  Tolstoy  rather  than  with  Tourgenef  and  the 
other  Contemporarians  ;  but  Fet's  stay  in  Petersburg  at 
this  time  was  a  short  one,  and  he  therefore  saw  little 
of  Tolstoy.  D.  V.  Grigordvitch,  the  novelist,  however, 
reported  to  him  another  scene  which  also  occurred  at 
Nekrdsofs  lodging. 

You  can't  imagine  what  it  was  like!  Great  Heavens! 
said  Grigorovitch.  Tourgenef  squeaked  and  squeaked,  holding 
his  hand  to  his  throat,  and  with  the  eyes  of  a  dying  gazelle 
whispered:  'I  can  stand  no  more!  I  have  bronchitis!'  and 
began  walking  to  and  fro  through  the  three  rooms. — '  Bronchitis 


PETEKSBURG  141 

is  an  imaginary  illness/  growls  Tolstoy  after  him :  'Bronchitis 
is  a  metal ! ' 

Of  course  Nekrasof's  heart  sank :  he  feared  to  lose  either 
of  these  valuable  contributors  to  the  Contemporary.  We  were 
all  agitated,  and  at  our  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  say. 
Tolstoy,  in  the  middle  room,  lay  sulking  on  the  morocco  sofa ; 
while  Tourgenef,  spreading  the  tails  of  his  short  coat  and  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  strode  to  and  fro  through  the  three 
rooms.  To  avert  a  catastrophe,  I  went  to  the  sofa  and  said, 
*  Tolstoy,  old  chap,  don't  get  excited !  You  don't  know  how 
he  esteems  and  loves  you  ! ' 

'I  won't  allow  him  to  do  anything  to  spite  me  ! '  exclaimed 
Tolstoy  with  dilated  nostrils.  'There !  Now  he  keeps  march- 
ing past  me  on  purpose,  wagging  his  democratic  haunches  ! ' 

The  rest  of  the  evidence  is  of  much  the  same  nature. 
Of  desire  to  agree,  there  was  hardly  a  trace  in  Tolstoy, 
who  never  doubted  his  own  sincerity  and  seldom  credited 
that  quality  to  others.  The  aristocratic  influences  that 
surrounded  his  upbringing  never  induced  him  to  be  lenient 
to  men  of  his  own  class,  such  as  Tourgenef;  but  they  led 
him  to  judge  harshly  and  unsympathetically  new  men  who 
were  pushing  their  way  to  the  front  by  their  own  ability. 
Fet,  in  his  Mimoires,  speaks  with  regi'et  of  the  fact  that 
the  educated  classes  ('  the  Intelligents ')  attracted  by 
Liberal  ideas  which  made  for  the  Emancipation  of  the 
serfs,  formed  so  strong  a  current  of  opinion  that  even  the 
literature  produced  by  the  nobility  (and  he  claims  that 
the  nobles  supplied  all  the  truly  artistic  literature) 
advocated  changes  which  struck  at  the  root  of  the  most 
fundamental  privileges  of  their  class.  This  tendency,  he 
tells  us,  revolted  '  Tolstoy's  fresh,  unwarped  instinct.' 

Grigor()vitch,  in  his  Literary  Memoirs,  tells  us  that, 
knowing  how  out  of  sympathy  Tolstoy  was  with  Peters- 
burg, and  how  evident  it  was  that  everything  in 
Petersburg  irritated  him,  he  was  surprised  to  find  that 
the  latter  took  permanent  lodgings  there.     Grigordvitch, 


142  LEO  TOLSTOY 

himself  a  Contemporarian,  had  met  Tolstoy  in  Moscow, 
and  coming  across  him  again  in  Petersburg,  and  hearing 
that  he  was  invited  to  dine  with  the  staff  of  the  Con- 
tem-porary^  but  did  not  yet  know  any  of  the  members 
intimately,  agreed  to  accompany  him. 

On  the  way  I  warned  him  to  be  on  his  guard  about  certain 
matters,  and  especially  to  avoid  attacking  George  Sand, 
whom  he  much  disliked,  but  who  was  devoutly  worshipped  by 
many  Contemporarians.  The  dinner  passed  off  all  right, 
Tolstoy  being  rather  quiet  at  first,  but  at  last  he  broke  out. 
Some  one  praised  George  Sand's  new  novel,  and  he  abruptly 
declared  his  hatred  of  her,  adding  that  the  heroines  of  the 
novels  she  was  then  writing,  if  they  really  existed,  ought  to  be 
tied  to  the  hangman's  cart  and  driven  through  the  streets 
of  Petersburg.  He  had,  adds  Grigorovitch,  already  then 
developed  that  peculiar  view  of  women  and  of  the  woman- 
question,  which  he  afterwards  expressed  so  vividly  in  Anna 
Karenina. 

With  all  the  curious  convolutions  of  Tolstoy's  character, 
there  is  a  remarkable  tenacity  of  conviction  running 
through  his  whole  life,  and  a  remark  in  Resurrection^ 
written  nearly  half  a  century  later,  throws  a  flood  of 
light  on  the  fact  of  his  so  detesting  George  Sand's 
emancipated  heroines  while  he  was  himself  living  a  loose  life. 
In  that  book,  the  hero  has  been  attracted  as  well  as  repelled 
first  by  Mariette,  the  General's  wife,  and  then  by  a  hand- 
some demi-mondaine  he  passes  in  the  street,  and  this  is 
his  reflection : 

The  animalism  of  the  brute  nature  in  man  is  disgusting, 
thought  he ;  but  as  long  as  it  remains  in  its  naked  form  we 
observe  it  from  the  height  of  our  spiritual  life  and  despise  it; 
and,  whether  one  has  fallen  or  resisted,  one  remains  what  one  was 
before.  But  when  that  same  animalism  hides  under  a  cloak  of 
poetry  and  esthetic  feeling,  and  demands  our  worship — then  we 
are  swallowed  up  by  it  completely,  and  worship  animalism,  no 
longer  distinguishing  good  from  evil.     Then  it  is  awful ! 


r. 


v:  — 


z 

< 


z 

z 


PETERSBURG  143 

Grigordvitch  in  another  place  speaks  of  Tolstoy's 
*  readiness  to  contradict.''  It  did  not  matter  what  opinion 
was  being  expressed;  and  the  more  authoritative  the 
speaker  appeared  to  be,  the  more  eager  was  Tolstoy  to 
oppose  him  and  to  begin  a  verbal  duel.  '  Watching  how 
he  listened  to  the  speaker  and  pierced  him  with  his  eyes, 
and  noticing  how  ironically  he  pressed  his  lips  together, 
one  conjectured  that  he  was  preparing  not  a  direct  reply, 
but  such  an  expression  of  opinion  as  would  perplex  his 
opponent  by  its  unexpectedness.' 

Danilevsky,  the  novelist,  confirms  this  impression  of 
Tolstoy's  eagerness  to  oppose.  They  met  at  the  house  of  a 
well-known  sculptor.  Tolstoy  entered  the  drawing-room 
while  a  new  work  of  Herzen's  was  being  read  aloud,  and 
quietly  took  up  a  position  behind  the  reader's  chair. 
When  the  reading  was  over,  he  began,  at  first  gently  and 
with  restraint,  then  hotly  and  boldly,  to  attack  Herzen 
and  the  enthusiasm  then  current  for  his  revolutionary  and 
emancipatory  works  ;  and  he  spoke  so  convincingly  and 
with  such  sincerity,  that  Danilevsky  says  he  never  after- 
wards saw  one  of  Herzen's  publications  in  that  house. 

Tourgenef  once  said  :  '  In  Tolstoy  the  character  which 
afterwards  lay  at  the  base  of  his  whole  outlook  on  life 
early  made  itself  manifest.  He  never  believed  in  people's 
sincerity.  Every  spiritual  movement  seemed  to  him  false, 
and  he  used  to  pierce  those  on  whom  his  suspicion  fell 
with  his  extraordinarily  penetrating  eyes  ' ;  and  Tourgenef 
went  on  to  say  that  personally  he  had  never  encountered 
anything  more  disconcerting  than  that  inquisitorial  look, 
which,  accompanied  by  two  or  three  biting  words,  was  enough 
to  goad  to  fury  any  man  who  lacked  strong  self  control. 

The  different  sides  of  men's  characters  do  not  always 
advance  simultaneously  or  harmoniously ;  and  it  frequently 
happens  that  those  awakening  to  a  sense  of  public  duty 
remain  self-indulgent  in  respect  to  wine  or  women,  while 
others  become  abstainers    or    respectable    husbands  while 


144  LEO  TOLSTOY 

remaining  oblivious  of  the  political  duties  they  owe  to  the 
community.  Among  the  reformers  whose  acquaintance 
Tolstoy  made  in  Petersburg,  there  was  unfortunately  a 
great  deal  of  gluttony,  drinking,  gambling  and  loose 
living,  and  Tolstoy — though  he  was  often  remorseful  and 
repentant  about  his  own  excesses  with  wine,  women,  and 
cards — with  his  innate  propensity  for  demanding  all  or 
nothing,  bitterly  resented  this  in  others.  He  would  no 
doubt  have  considered  it  hypocritical  had  he  himself 
come  forward  as  a  reformer  before  obtaining  mastery  over 
his  own  appetites,  and  he  judged  others  by  the  same 
standard. 

The  ill  success  of  the  Crimean  war  had  dealt  a  blow  to 
the  prestige  of  the  Tsardom,  and  a  series  of  wide-reaching 
reforms  were  being  prepared  at  this  time — among  which  the 
most  important  were  the  abolition  of  serfdom,  the  reform 
of  civil  and  criminal  law,  the  introduction  of  trial  by  jury 
and  of  oral  proceedings  in  the  law  courts,  the  establish- 
ment of  a  system  of  Local  Government  somewhat  resembling 
our  County  Councils,  and  some  relaxation  of  the  insensate 
severity  of  the  press  censorship.  But  though  Tolstoy 
reached  Petersburg  at  a  moment  when  Russia  was  enter- 
ing on  this  hopeful  and  fruitful  period  of  internal  reform, 
neither  in  his  published  writings  nor  in  any  private 
utterance  we  know  of,  does  he  express  much  sympathy 
with  those  reforms,  or  show  any  perception  of  the 
advantage  that  accrues  to  a  nation  whose  inhabitants 
interest  themselves  in  public  affairs.  He  never  realised 
that  even  if  a  people  make  for  themselves  bad  laws,  the 
very  fact  of  being  invited  to  think  about  large  practical 
matters,  and  being  allowed  to  test  their  own  conclusions 
in  practice,  fosters  a  habit  of  not  fearing  to  think  and  to 
act  in  accord  with  one's  thought ;  and  that  this  habit  of 
applying  thought  to  the  guidance  of  practical  affairs, 
overflows  into  a  nation's  commerce  and  industry  and 
agriculture,  and  ultimately  causes    the  difference   between 


PETERSBURG  145 

the  comparative  material  security  of  our  Western  world 
and  the  chronic  fear  of  famine  that  oppresses  many  Eastern 
lands. 

But  complex  problems  of  public  policy  —  which  are 
always  difficult,  and  call  for  patience,  tolerant  co-operation, 
and  a  willingness  to  accept  half-loaves  when  whole  ones 
are  unobtainable  —  never  were  to  Tolstoy's  taste.  He 
hankers  after  simple,  clear-cut  solutions,  such  as  are  obtain- 
able only  subjectively,  in  the  mind. 

A  few  years  later  than  the  time  of  which  we  are  speak- 
ing, Tolstoy  commenced  a  novel  called  The  Decembrists, 
which  begins  with  a  description  of  these  reform  years. 
The  passage  shows  how  scornfully  he  regarded  the  whole 
movement  for  the  liberation  of  the  people  and  the 
democratisation  of  their  institutions.  These  are  his 
words : 

This  happened  not  long  ago,  in  the  reign  of  Alexander  II, 
in  our  times  of  civilisation,  progress,  problems,  re-birth  of  Russia, 
etc.  etc. ;  the  time  Avhen  the  victorious  Russian  army  returned 
from  Sevastopol  which  it  had  surrendered  to  the  enemy ;  when 
all  Russia  was  celebrating  the  destruction  of  the  Black  Sea 
fleet ;  and  white-walled  Moscow  greeted,  and  congratulated  on 
that  auspicious  event,  the  remainder  of  the  crews  of  that  fleet, 
offering  them  a  good  old  Russian  goblet  of  vodka,  and  in  the 
good  old  Russian  way  bringing  them  bread  and  salt  and  bowing 
at  their  feet.  This  was  the  time  when  Russia,  in  the  person 
of  her  far-sighted  virgin  politicians,  wept  over  the  destruction 
of  her  dream  of  a  Te  Deum  in  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Sophia,  and 
the  deep-felt  loss  to  the  fatherland  of  two  great  men  who  had 
perished  during  the  war  (one  who,  carried  away  by  impatience 
to  hear  the  Te  Deum  referred  to  above,  had  fallen  on  the  fields 
of  Wallachia,  not  without  leaving  there  two  squadrons  of 
Hussars ;  and  the  other  an  invaluable  man  who  distributed 
tea,  other  people's  money,  and  sheets,  to  the  wounded 
without  stealing  any  of  them) ;  in  that  time  when  from  all 
sides,  in  all  departments  of  human  activity  in  Russia,  great 
men  spra:ig  up  like  mushrooms :  commanders,  administrators, 

K 


146  LEO  TOLSTOY 

economists,  writers,  orators,  and  simply  great  men  without  any 
special  calling  or  aim ;  in  that  time  when  at  the  Jubilee  of  a 
Moscow  actor,  public  opinion,  fortified  by  a  toast,  appeared  and 
began  to  punish  all  wrongdoers;  when  stern  Commissioners 
galloped  from  Petersburg  to  the  South  and  captured,  exposed, 
and  punished  the  commissariat  rascals ;  when  in  all  the  towns 
dinners  with  toasts  were  given  to  the  heroes  of  Sevastopol,  and 
to  those  of  them  whose  arms  and  legs  had  been  torn  off,  coppers 
were  given  by  those  who  met  them  on  the  bridges  or  highways; 
at  that  time  when  oratorical  talents  were  so  rapidly  developed 
among  the  people  that  one  publican  everywhere  and  on  all 
occasions  wrote,  printed,  and  repeated  by  heart  at  dinners, 
such  powerful  speeches  that  the  guardians  of  order  were  obliged 
to  undertake  repressive  measures  to  subdue  his  eloquence; 
when  even  in  the  English  Club  in  Moscow  a  special  room  was 
set  apart  for  the  consideration  of  public  affairs  ;  when  periodicals 
appeared  under  the  most  varied  banners ;  journals  developing 
European  principles  on  a  European  basis  but  with  a  Russian 
world-conception,  and  journals  on  an  exclusively  Russian  basis, 
developing  Russian  principles  but  with  a  European  world-concep- 
tion; when  suddenly,  so  many  journals  appeared  that  it  seemed 
as  if  all  possible  titles  had  been  used  up  :  '  The  Messenger,' '  The 
Word,'  '  The  Discourse,'  '  The  Eagle,'  and  many  others  ;  when 
nevertheless  fresh  titles  presented  themselves  continually ;  at  that 
time  when  pleiades  of  new  author-philosophers  appeared,  proving 
that  Science  is  national  and  is  not  national  and  is  international, 
and  so  on :  and  pleiades  of  writer-artists,  who  described  woods 
and  sun-rises,  and  thunders,  and  the  love  of  a  Russian  maiden, 
and  the  idleness  of  one  official,  and  the  misconduct  of  many 
officials;  at  that  time  when  from  all  sides  appeared  problems 
(as  in  the  year  ' 5Q  eveiy  concourse  of  circumstances  was  called 
of  which  nobody  could  make  head  or  tail)  ;  the  problem  of  the 
Cadet  Schools,  the  Universities,  the  Censor,  oral  tribunals, 
finance,  the  banks,  the  police,  the  Emancipation,  and  many 
others ;  everybody  still  tried  to  discover  new  questions,  and 
everybody  tried  to  solve  them ;  they  wrote,  and  read,  and 
talked,  and  drew  up  projects,  and  all  wished  to  amend,  destroy 
and  alter,  and  all  Russians,  as  one  man,  were  in  an  indescrib- 
able state  of  enthusiasm.      That  was  a  condition   which  has 


PETERSBURG  147 

occurred  twice  in  Russia  in  the  nineteenth  century  :  the  first 
time  was  in  the  year  '12  when  we  thrashed  Napoleon  I,  and 
the  second  time  was  in  '56  when  Napoleon  III  thrashed  us. 
Great,  unforgettable  epoch  of  the  re-birth  of  the  Russian 
people !  Like  the  Frenchman  who  said  that  he  had  not  lived 
at  all  who  had  not  lived  during  the  Great  French  Revolution, 
so  I  make  bold  to  sav  that  he  who  did  not  live  in  Russia  in  '56, 

ml  ' 

does  not  know  what  life  is.  The  writer  of  these  lines  not 
merely  lived  at  that  time,  but  was  one  of  the  workers  of  that 
period.  Not  merely  did  he  personally  sit  for  some  weeks  in 
one  of  the  casemates  of  Sevastopol,  but  he  wrote  a  work  about 
the  Crimean  War  which  brought  him  great  fame,  and  in  which 
he  clearly  and  minutely  described  how  the  soldiers  in  the 
bastion  fired  off  their  muskets,  how  in  the  hospitals  people  were 
bound  up  with  bandages,  and  how  in  the  cemetery  they  were 
buried  in  the  earth. 

Having  performed  these  exploits,  the  writer  of  these  lines 
arrived  at  the  heart  of  the  Empire,  at  a  rocket-station,  where 
he  reaped  his  laurels.  He  witnessed  the  enthusiasm  of  both 
capitals  and  of  the  whole  people,  and  experienced  in  his  own 
person  how  Russia  can  reward  real  service.  The  great  ones 
of  the  earth  sought  his  acquaintance,  pressed  his  hands,  offered 
him  dinners,  persistently  invited  him  to  come  and  see  them, 
and  in  order  to  hear  from  him  particulars  about  the  war, 
narrated  to  him  their  own  sensations.  Therefore  the  writer  of 
these  lines  knows  how  to  appreciate  that  great  and  memorable 
time.     But  that  is  not  what  I  want  to  tell  about. 

The  very  day  he  reached  Petersburg  from  Sevastopol,  in 
September  1855,  Tolstoy  called  on  Tourgenef,  who  pressed 
him  to  stay  with  him  and  introduced  him  to  all  that  was 
most  interesting  in  Petersburg  literary  and  artistic  circles, 
watching  over  his  interests  *  like  an  old  nurse,"*  as  Tourge'nef 
himself  once  expressed  it.  Tourgenef  fully  appreciated 
Tolstoy's  artistic  genius,  but  was  strangely  blind  to  the 
specially  Tolstoyan  side  of  Tolstoy's  complex  nature.  As 
we  have  already  seen,  friction  soon  arose  between  the  two 
men,  and  though  they  again  and  again  made  friends,  their 
friendship  was  very  unstable  and  easily  upset. 


148  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Early  in  1856  Tolstoy's  third  brother,  Demetrius,  died 
in  Orel.  His  history  has  been  told  in  Chapter  II.  Tolstoy 
says:  'I  was  particularly  horrid  at  that  time.  I 
went  to  Orel  from  Petersburg,  where  I  frequented 
society  and  was  filled  with  conceit.  I  felt  sorry  for  Mitenka, 
but  not  very  sorry.  I  paid  him  a  hurried  visit,  but  did  not 
stay  at  Orel,  and  my  brother  died  a  few  days  after  I  left.' 
On  2nd  February  the  news  reached  Leo  ;  but  he  says  :  '  I 
really  believe  that  what  hurt  me  most,  was  that  it  prevented 
my  taking  part  in  some  private  theatricals  then  being  got 
up  at  Court,  and  to  which  I  had  been  invited.' 

In  March  the  war  ended,  and  Tolstoy  obtained  furlough. 
On  25  th  March  he  wrote  to  his  brother  Sergius  : 

I  want  to  go  abroad  for  eight  months,  and  if  they  give  me 
leave  I  shall  do  so.  I  wrote  to  Nikolenka  about  it,  and  asked 
him  to  come  too.  If  we  could  all  three  arrange  to  go  together 
it  would  be  first-rate.  If  each  of  us  took  Rs.  1000,  we  could 
do  the  trip  capitally. 

Please  write  and  tell  me  how  you  like  The  Snow  Storm.  I 
am  dissatisfied  with  it — seriously.  But  I  now  want  to  write 
many  things,  only  I  positively  have  no  time  in  this  damned 
Petersburg.  Anyway,  whether  they  let  me  go  abroad  or  not, 
I  intend  to  take  furlough  in  April  and  come  to  the  country. 

On  13th  May  he  was  still  in  Petersburg,  and  we  find 
him  noting  in  his  Diary  : 

The  powerful  means  to  true  happiness  in  life,  is  to  let  flow 
from  oneself  on  all  sides,  without  any  laws,  like  a  spider,  a 
cobweb  of  love,  and  to  catch  in  it  all  that  comes  to  hand : 
women  old  or  young,  children,  or  policemen. 

Among  his  literary  acquaintances  at  this  time  the  one 
for  whom  he  seems  to  have  felt  most  sympathy  and  respect 
was  Drouzhinin,  a  critic,  writer  of  stories,  and  translator  of 
Shakespear.  Before  long  we  find  Drouzhinin  leading  a 
revolt  against  the  Contemporary  and  attracting  some  of  the 
contributors  to  the  Reading  Library^  a  rival  magazine,  to 
which  Tolstoy  contributed  an  article  in  December  1856. 


PETERSBURG  149 

It  was  not  till  the  end  of  May  that  he  got  away  from 
Petersburg ;  and  on  his  road  home  he  stopped  in  Moscow 
and  visited  the  family  of  Dr.  Behrs,  a  Russian  of  German 
origin,  who  had  married  Miss  Islenyef.  The  first  mention 
one  gets  of  Tolstoy's  future  wife  is  a  note  in  his  Diary 
relating  to  this  visit  to  the  Behrs's  country  house  near 
Moscow.  He  says  :  '  The  children  served  us.  What  dear, 
merry  little  girls  I"*  Little  more  than  six  years  later,  the 
second  of  these  '  merry  little  girls  '  was  Countess  Tolstoy  ! 

Three  days  later  he  writes  to  his  brother  Sergius  :  *  I 
spent  ten  days  in  Moscow  .  .  .  very  pleasantly,  without 
champagne  or  gipsies,  but  a  little  in  love — I  will  tell  you 
later  on  with  whom.'  The  object  of  his  affection  at  that 
time  was  of  course  not  Dr.  Behrs's  twelve-year-old  daughter. 

From  Yasnaya  he  made  a  round  of  visits  to  see  his 
married  sister  and  other  neighbours;  among  them  Tourgenef, 
at  whose  house  a  gathering  of  the  Tolstoys  took  place. 
Special  honour  was  paid  to  Leo,  who  comically  posed  as  the 
hero  of  a  Triumph.  He  was  being  crowned  and  almost 
covered  with  flowers,  leaves,  grass,  and  anything  that  came 
handy,  when  the  approach  of  an  unwelcome  guest — a  lady 
neighbour  of  Tourgenefs — was  announced.  Thereupon 
the  host  seized  his  head  in  despair ;  the  triumpher,  with  a 
howl,  began  to  turn  rapid  catherine-wheel  somersaults 
through  the  rooms  ;  and  his  sister's  husband  was  quickly 
bandaged  up  as  an  invalid,  to  be  used  as  an  excuse  and  a 
protection  from  the  unwelcome  intruder. 

The  letter  to  Sergius,  quoted  above,  contains  an  allusion 
to  Tolstoy's  first  serious  matrimonial  project. 

He  had  in  childhood  been  much  attached  to  a  certain 
Sdnitchka  Kaldshina.  While  at  the  University,  he  had 
had  a  sentimental  love  affair  with  a  certain  Z.  M.,  who 
seems  hardly  to  have  been  aware  of  his  devotion.  Then 
there  was  the  Cossack  damsel  who  figures  in  The  Cossacks, 
and  subsequently  he  much  admired  a  society  lady,  INLidame 
Sch.,  who  may  also  have  been  scarcely  aware  of  his  feelings, 
for  Tolstoy  was  shy  and  timid  in  these  matters — which 


150  LEO  TOLSTOY 

were  quite  different  from  his  affairs  with  gipsy  girls  and 
other  hireable  women. 

The  present  affair  with  V.  V.  A.  was  more  serious  than 
any  of  its  predecessors.  It  led  to  a  long  correspondence, 
and  even  to  their  engagement  being  announced  among 
relations  and  friends.  The  lady  was  the  good-looking 
daughter  of  a  landowner  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Ydsnaya 
Polyana. 

In  August  she  accompanied  her  family  to  Moscow  for 
the  Coronation  of  Alexander  II.  At  these  festivities 
she  enjoyed  herself  greatly,  and  described  her  feelings 
in  a  letter  which  dealt  the  first  blow  to  Tolstoy's 
admiration.  He  at  once  assumed  towards  her  the  role 
which  more  than  twenty- five  years  later  he  assumed  to- 
wards mankind  in  general,  and  upbraided  her  with  the 
insignificant  and  unworthy  nature  of  her  interests  and 
enjoyments,  besides  indulging  in  scathing  sarcasms  about 
the  fashionable  circles  with  which  she  was  so  enraptured. 

The  young  lady  did  not  reply.  Tolstoy  then  begged 
pardon — which  was  granted. 

Meanwhile  he  had  fallen  ill ;  and  early  in  September 
he  wrote  to  his  brother  Sergius : 


'& 


Only  now,  at  nine  o'clock  on  Monday  evening,  can  I  give  you 
a  satisfactory  reply,  for  till  now  things  went  worse  and  worse. 
Two  doctors  were  sent  for,  and  administered  another  forty 
leeches,  but  only  now  have  I  had  a  good  sleep  and,  on  waking 
up,  feel  considerably  better.  All  the  same,  there  can  be  no 
question  of  my  leaving  home  for  five  or  six  days  yet.  So 
au  revoir;  please  let  me  know  when  you  go  (shooting)  and 
whether  it  is  true  that  your  farming  has  been  seriously 
neglected ;  and  do  not  kill  all  the  game  without  me.  I  will 
send  the  dogs,  perhaps,  to-morrow. 

He  recovered.  The  young  lady  returned  to  her  family's 
estate  at  Soudak(5va,  and  his  visits  being  renewed,  Tolstoy's 
intimacy  with  her  continued  and  grew  closer. 


PETERSBURG  151 

Yet  to  '  test  himself,''  he  started  for  a  visit  to  Petersburg, 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  got  as  far  as  Moscow,  wrote  a  letter 
to  the  young  lady  in  which  he  dwelt  on  the  importance  of 
the  mutual  attraction  of  the  sexes,  the  serious  nature  of 
his  and  her  relation  to  one  another,  and  the  necessity  of 
testing  themselves  by  time  and  distance. 

While  living  in  Petersburg,  he  learnt  the  particulars  of 
a  flirtation  the  young  lady  had  carried  on  at  the  time  of 
the  Coronation  with  a  French  music-master,  M ortier ;  and 
he  wrote  her  a  letter  full  of  reproaches.  Instead  of  post- 
ing it,  however,  he  wrote  her  another — telling  her  of  the 
one  he  had  written,  which  he  intended  to  show  her  when 
they  met. 

After  once  breaking  off  relations  with  Mortier,  the  young 
lady  allowed  them  to  be  again  renewed,  and  what  Tolstoy 
learned  of  the  matter  caused  him  seriously  to  reconsider 
his  position.  For  some  time  his  feelings  evidently  wavered. 
The  very  day  after  posting  his  remonstrance,  he  wrote 
another  letter  in  a  conciliatory  tone,  and  though  no  reply 
came,  he  assumed  that  all  was  well,  and  continued  the 
correspondence  by  sending  her  a  detailed  plan  of  the  life 
they  might  hope  to  live  together  :  its  surroundings,  circle 
of  acquaintance,  and  the  arrangement  of  their  time.  He 
also  tried  to  interest  her  in  the  most  serious  problems  of 
life. 

No  answer  reaching  him  for  a  long  time,  he  became 
agitated  and  perplexed.  Then  several  letters,  delayed  in 
the  post,  arrived  all  at  once,  and  cordial  intercourse  was 
re-established  between  the  lovers.  But  though  the 
engagement  and  correspondence  continued,  and  expres- 
sions of  affection  were  interchanged,  it  gradually  became 
more  and  more  evident  that  there  was  something  artificial 
and  unsatisfactory  in  their  relation  to  one  another. 

Meanwhile  Tolstoy  was  having  other  difficulties  in 
Petersburg.  On  10th  November  1856  he  writes  to  his 
brother  Sergius : 


152  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Forgive  me,  deai*  friend  Seryozha,  for  only  writing  two  words 
— I  have  no  time  for  more.  I  have  been  most  unlucky  since  I 
left  home  ;  there  is  no  one  here  I  like.  It  seems  that  I  have 
been  abused  in  the  Fatherland  Journal  for  my  war  stories — I 
have  not  yet  read  the  attack ;  but  the  worst  is  that  Konstantl- 
nof  [the  General  under  whose  command  was  the  battery  to 
which  Tolstoy  was  attached]  informed  me  as  soon  as  I  got  here 
that  the  Grand  Duke  Michael,  having  learnt  that  I  am  supposed 
to  have  composed  the  Soldiers'  Song,  is  displeased,  particularly 
at  my  having  (as  rumour  says)  taught  it  to  the  soldiers.  This 
is  abominable.  I  have  had  an  explanation  with  the  Head  of 
the  Staff.  The  only  satisfactory  thing  is  that  my  health  is 
good,  and  that  (Dr.)  Schipoulinsky  says  my  lungs  are  thoroughly 
sound. 

On  20th  November  1856  Tolstoy  left  the  army,  in  which 
he  had  never  secured  promotion  though  he  had  private 
influence  enough  to  enable  him,  about  this  time,  to  save 
from  trial  by  Court  Martial  the  Commander  of  the  battery 
in  which  he  had  served  in  the  Crimea. 

Early  in  December  he  left  Petersburoj  for  Moscow. 
From  there,  on  5th  December,  he  writes  to  Aunt 
Tatiana  : 

When  I  first  went  away  and  for  a  week  after,  I  thought  I 
was  '  in  love '  as  it  is  called  ;  but  with  an  imagination  such  as 
mine  that  was  not  difficult. 

Now,  however,  especially  since  I  have  set  to  work  diligently, 
I  should  like — and  very  much  like — to  be  able  to  say  that  I 
am  in  love,  or  even  that  I  love  her ;  but  it  is  not  the  case. 
The  only  feeling  I  have  for  her  is  gratitude  for  her  love  of  me, 
and  the  thought  that  of  all  the  girls  I  have  known  or  know,  she 
would  have  made  me  the  best  wife,  as  I  understand  family  life. 
And  that  is  what  I  should  like  to  have  your  candid  opinion 
about.  Am  I  mistaken  or  not .''  I  should  like  to  hear  your 
advice  because,  in  the  first  place,  you  know  both  her  and  me  ; 
and  chiefly  because  you  love  me,  and  those  who  love  are  never 
wrong.  It  is  true  that  1  have  tested  myself  very  badly,  for 
from  the  time  I  left  liome  I  have  led  a  solitary  rather  than  a 


Tolstoy  in  1856,  the  year  he  left  the  army. 


PETERSBURG  153 

dissipated  life,  and  have  seen  few  women  ;  but  notwithstanding 
thatj  I  have  had  many  moments  of  vexation  with  myself  for 
having  become  connected  with  her,  and  I  have  repented  of  it. 
All  the  same,  I  repeat  that  if  1  were  convinced  that  she  is  of  a 
steadfast  nature,  and  would  love  me  always — even  though  not 
as  now,  yet  more  than  any  one  else — then  I  should  not  hesitate 
for  a  moment  about  marrying  her.  I  am  confident  that  then 
my  love  of  her  would  increase  more  and  more  and  that  through 
that  feeling  she  would  become  a  good  woman. 

The  young  lady  in  question  visited  Petersburg  for  part 
of  the  winter  season,  but  Tolstoy  does  not  appear  to  have 
met  her  there,  being  himself  away  in  Moscow  for  several 
weeks.  The  correspondence  was  largely  didactic  on  his 
side,  and  was  so  unsatisfactory  to  the  young  lady  that  she 
finally  forbade  him  to  write  again.  He  disobeyed  the 
injunction,  asking  her  pardon,  telling  her  he  was  going 
abroad,  and  begging  that  she  would  write  to  him  once 
more,  to  an  address  in  Paris. 

He  wrote  to  AuntTatiana  from  Moscow,  on  12th  January 
1857,  a  letter  in  which  Russian  and  French  alternate. 

*  Chere  Xante  ! — J'ai  re9u  mon  passeport  pour  I'etranger  et 
je  suis  venu  a  Moscou  pour  y  passer  quelques  jours  avec  Marie 
arranger  mes  affaires  et  prendre  conge  de  vous. 

But  now  I  have  reconsidered  the  matter,  especially  on 
Mashenka's  advice,  and  have  decided  to  remain  with  her  here 
a  week  or  two  and  then  to  go  straight  through  Warsaw  to 
Paris.  You  no  doubt  understand,  chere  tante,  why  I  do  not 
wish  and  why  it  is  not  right  for  me  to  come  now  to  Yasnaya, 
or  rather  to  Soudakova.  I,  it  seems,  have  acted  very  badly  in 
relation  to  V.,  but  were  I  to  see  her  now,  I  should  behave  still 
worse.  As  I  wrote  you,  I  am  more  than  indifferent  to  her,  and 
feel  that  I  can  no  longer  deceive  either  her  or  myself.  But 
were  I  to  come,  I  might  perhaps,  from  weakness  of  character, 
again  delude  myself. 

*  Dear  Aunt, — I  have  received  my  passport  for  abroad,  and  I  have 
come  to  Moscow  to  pass  some  days  with  Mary,  and  to  take  leave  of 
you.     (See  sentences  in  English  in  letter  above.) 


154  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Vous  rappelez-vous,  ch^re  tante,  comme  vous  vous  ^tes 
moquee  de  moi,  quand  je  vous  ai  dit  que  je  partais  pour  Peters- 
bourg  '  pour  m'eprouver/  et  cependant  c'est  k  cette  idee  que  je 
suis  redevable  de  n'avoir  pas  fait  le  malheur  de  la  jeune  per- 
sonne  et  le  mien,  car  ne  croyez  pas  que  ce  soit  de  rinconstanee 
ou  de  I'infidelite ;  personne  ne  m'a  plu  pendant  ces  deux  mois, 
mais  tout  bonnement  j'ai  vu  que  je  me  trompais  moi-meme ; 
que  non  seulement  jamais  je  n'ai  eu,  mais  jamais  je  n'aurais 
pour  V.  le  moindre  sentiment  d'amour  veritable.  La  seule 
chose  qui  me  fait  beaucoup  de  peine  c'est  que  j'ai  fait  du  tort 
a  la  demoiselle  et  que  je  ne  pourrai  prendre  conge  de  vous 
avant  de  partir.  .  .  , 

After  reaching  Paris  (an  event  belonging  properly 
to  the  next  chapter)  he  received  a  last  communica- 
tion from  V.  V.  A.  and  wrote  her  a  friendly  letter  in 
reply,  speaking  of  his  love  as  of  something  past, 
thanking  her  for  her  friendship,  and  wishing  her  every 
happiness. 

His  Aunt  Tatidna — generally  the  mildest  of  critics 
where  he  was  concerned — appears  to  have  blamed  him  for 
his  conduct;  and  the  friends  of  V.  V.  A.,  including 
a  French  governess,  Mile.  Vergani,  did  so  yet  more 
severely.  In  one  of  his  letters,  which  contains  indi- 
cations of  an  agitation  too  strong  to  allow  him  to 
complete  the  construction  of  the  opening  sentence,  he 
says  : 


Do  you  remember,  dear  Aunt,  how  you  made  fun  of  me  when  I 
told  you  I  was  going  to  Petersburg  *to  test  myself?  Yet  it  is  that 
idea  that  has  saved  me  from  bringing  misery  on  the  young  lady  and 
ou  myself;  for  do  not  suppose  that  it  is  a  case  of  inconstancy  or  un- 
faithfulness. No  one  has  taken  my  fancy  during  these  two  months, 
but  simply  I  have  come  to  see  that  I  was  deceiving  myself,  and  that 
I  not  only  never  had,  but  never  shall  have,  the  least  feeling  of  true 
love  for  V.  V.  A.  The  only  things  which  give  me  much  pain  are 
that  I  have  hurt  the  young  lady,  aud  that  I  cannot  take  leave  of  you 
before  my  departure.  ,   .  , 


PETERSBURG  155 

*  Si  Mile.  V.  qui  m'a  ecrit  une  lettre  aussi  ridicule,  voulait 
se  rappeler  toute  ma  eonduite  vis-a-vis  de  V.  V.  A.,  comment 
je  tdchais  de  venir  le  plus  rarement  possible,  comment  c'est 
elle  qui  m'engageait  k  venir  plus  souvent  et  a  entrer  dans  des 
relations  plus  proches.  Je  comprends  qu'elle  soit  fachee  de 
ce  qu'une  chose  qu'elle  a  beaucoup  desiree  ne  s'est  pas  faite 
(j'en  suis  fache  peut-etre  plus  qu'elle)  mais  ce  n'est  pas  une 
raison  pour  dire  a  un  homme  qui  s'est  efforce  d'agir  le  mieux 
possible,  qui  a  fait  des  sacrifices  de  peur  de  faire  le  malheur 
des  autresj  de  lui  dire,  qu'il  est  un  pig  [this  one  word  is  in 
Russian  in  the  original]  et  de  le  faire  accroire  a  tout  le  monde. 
Je  suis  sur  que  Toula  [the  town  nearest  his  estate]  est  convaincu 
que  je  suis  le  plus  grand  des  monstres. 

Turning  from  love  to  literature  and  friendship,  we  have 
two  letters  of  this  period  from  Tourgenef.  The  first  is 
dated  Paris,  16th  November  1856,  and  is  as  follows  : 

Dearest  Tolstoy, — Your  letter  of  15  October  took  a  whole 
month  crawling  to  me — I  received  it  only  yesterday.  I  have 
thought  carefully  about  what  you  write  me — and  I  think  you 
are  wrong.  It  is  true  I  cannot  be  quite  sincere,  because  I  can't 
be  quite  frank,  with  you,  I  think  we  got  to  know  each  other 
awkwardly  and  at  a  bad  time,  and  when  we  meet  again  it  will 
be  much  easier  and  smoother.  I  feel  that  I  love  you  as  a  man 
(as  an  author  it  needs  no  saying) ;  but  much  in  you  is  trying  to 
me,  and  ultimately  I  found  it  better  to  keep  at  a  distance  from 
you.  When  we  meet  we  will  again  try  to  go  hand  in  hand — 
perhaps  we  shall  succeed  better ;  for  strange  as  it  may  sound, 
my  heart  turns  to  you  when   at  a   distance,  as  to  a  brother  : 

*  If  Mile.  Vergani,  who  has  written  me  so  absurd  a  letter,  would 
remember  my  whole  conduct  towards  V.  V.  A.,  how  I  tried  to  come 
as  seldom  as  possible,  and  how  it  was  she  who  induced  me  to  come 
more  frequently  and  to  enter  into  closer  relations.  I  understand  her 
being  vexed  that  an  affair  she  much  desired  has  not  come  off  (I  per- 
haps am  more  vexed  about  it  than  she)  but  that  is  no  reason  for  her 
to  tell  a  man  who  has  tried  to  act  as  well  as  he  could,  and  who  has 
made  sacrifices  in  order  not  to  make  others  unhappy,  that  he  is  a  pig, 
and  to  spread  that  report  about.  I  .im  sure  all  Toiiia  is  conviuced 
that  I  am  the  greatest  of  monsters,  .  .  , 


156  LEO  TOLSTOY 

I  even  feel  tenderly  towards  you.  In  a  word,  I  love  you — that 
is  certain ;  perchance  from  that,  in  time,  all  good  will  follow. 
I  heard  of  your  illness  and  grieved ;  but  now,  I  beg  you,  drive 
the  thought  of  it  out  of  your  head.  For  you  too  have  your 
fancies,  and  are  perhaps  thinking  of  consumption — but,  God 
knows,  you  have  nothing  of  the  sort.  .  .  . 

You  have  finished  the  first  part  of  Youth — that  is  capital. 
How  sorry  I  am  to  be  unable  to  hear  it  read  !  If  you  do  not  go 
astray  (which  I  think  there  is  no  reason  to  anticipate)  you  will 
go  very  far.  I  wish  you  good  health,  activity — and  freedom, 
spiritual  freedom. 

As  to  my  Faust,  I  do  not  think  it  will  please  you  very  much. 
My  things  could  please  you  and  perhaps  have  some  influence  on 
you,  only  until  you  became  independent.  Now  you  have  no 
need  to  study  me  ;  you  see  only  the  difference  of  our  manners, 
the  mistakes  and  the  omissions ;  what  you  have  to  do  is  to 
study  man,  your  own  heart,  and  the  really  great  writers.  I  am 
a  writer  of  a  transition  period — and  am  of  use  only  to  men  in 
a  transition  state.     So  farewell,  and  be  well.     Write  to  me. 

On  8th  December  1856  he  writes  again  : 

Dear  Tolstoy, — Yesterday  my  good  genius  led  me  past  the 
post-office,  and  it  occurred  to  me  to  ask  if  there  were  any 
letters  for  me  at  the  poste-restante  (though  I  think  that  all  my 
friends  ouglit  long  ago  to  have  learnt  my  Paris  address)  and 
I  found  your  letter,  in  which  you  speak  of  my  Faust.  You  can 
well  imagine  how  glad  I  was  to  read  it.  Your  sympathy 
gladdened  me  truly  and  deeply.  Yes,  and  from  the  whole 
letter  there  breathes  a  mild,  clear  and  friendly  peacefulness. 
It  remains  for  me  to  hold  out  my  hand  across  the  '  ravine ' 
which  has  long  since  become  a  hardly  perceptible  crack,  about 
which  we  will  speak  no  more — it  is  not  woi-th  it. 

I  fear  to  speak  of  one  thing  you  mention  :  it  is  a  delicate 
matter, — words  may  blight  such  things  before  they  are  ripe, 
but  when  they  are  ripe  a  hammer  will  not  break  them.  God 
grant  that  all  may  turn  out  favourably  and  well.  It  may  bring 
you  th.at  sjiiritual  repose  which  you  lacked  when  I  knew  you. 

You  have,  I  see,  now  become  very  intimate  with  Drouzhfnin 


PETERSBURG  157 

— and  are  under  his  influence.  That  is  right,  only  take  care 
not  to  swallow  too  much  of  him.  When  1  \vas  your  age,  only 
men  of  enthusiastic  natures  influenced  me  ;  but  you  are  built 
differently,  and  perhaps  also  the  times  are  changed.  .  .  .  Let 
me  know  in  which  numbers  of  the  Conlemporary  your  Youth  will 
appear;  and  by  the  way,  let  me  know  the  final  impression 
made  on  you  by  Lear^  which  you  probably  have  read,  if  only  for 
Drouzhinin's  sake. 

About  the  same  time  Tourgcnef  wrote  to  Drouzhfnin: 

I  hear  that  you  have  become  very  intimate  with  Tolstoy — 
and  he  has  become  very  pleasant  and  serene.  I  am  very  glad. 
When  that  new  wine  has  finished  fermenting,  it  will  yield 
a  drink  fit  for  the  Gods.  What  about  his  Youth,  which  was  sent 
for  your  vei'dict .'' 

The  allusion  to  Drouzhinin''s  translation  of  King  Lear 
is  worth  noticing  because  fully  fifty  years  later  it  was  this 
play  that  Tolstoy  selected  for  hostile  analysis  in  his  famous 
attack  on  Shakespear.  One  gathers  from  a  letter  written 
by  V.  P.  Bdtkin,  that  Drouzhinin's  rendering  impressed 
Tolstoy  favourably  at  the  time. 

Before  quoting  Drouzhinin"'s  criticism  of  Youthy  it  will  be 
in  place  to  mention  other  works  by  Tolstoy,  not  yet 
enumerated,  which  appeared  at  this  period.  Memohs  of  a 
Billiard  Marker^  giving  a  glimpse  of  temptations  Tolstoy 
had  experienced,  was  published  in  January  1855,  while  he 
was  in  Sevastopol.  In  January  1856  came  Sevastopol  in 
August.  In  March  1856  appeared  The  Snoio  Storm.  In 
May  185  6  came  a  rollicking  tale,  with  flashes  of  humour 
like  that  of  Charles  Lever,  entitled  Two  Hussars.  It  is 
the  only  story  Tolstoy  ever  wrote  in  that  vein  ;  and  in  it 
are  introduced  gipsy  singers  such  as  those  of  whom  repeated 
mention  occurs  in  his  letters.  In  December,  before  he 
went  abroad,  two  more  tales  were  published  :  one  of  these, 
entitled  Meeting  a  Moscow  Acquaintance  in  the  Detachment, 
containing  a  scathing  portrayal  of  the  cowardice  a  man, 


158  LEO  TOLSTOY 

who  had  passed  muster  in  '  good  society,"'  displayed  when 
circumstances  put  him  to  the  test.  The  other  story,  A 
Squire's  Morning,  is  closely  drawn  from  Tolstoy's  own  ex- 
perience when  on  first  leaving  the  University  he  settled  on 
his  estate  and  attempted  to  better  the  condition  of  his 
serfs.  Their  stolidity,  their  distrust,  and  the  immense 
difficulty  of  introducing  any  changes,  are  all  brought  out. 
In  a  letter  to  Drouzhinin,  Tourgenef  wrote  : 

I  have  read  his  Squire's  Morning,  which  pleased  me  exceed- 
ingly by  its  sincerity  and  almost  complete  fi'cedom  of  outlook. 
I  say  '  almost '  because  in  the  way  he  set  himself  the  task, 
there  still  is  hidden  (without  his  perhaps  being  aware  of  it) 
a  certain  amount  of  prejudice.  The  chief  moral  impression 
produced  by  the  story  (leaving  the  artistic  impression  aside) 
is  that  so  long  as  the  state  of  serfdom  exists,  there  is  no 
possibility  of  the  two  sides  drawing  together,  despite  the  most 
disinterested  and  honourable  desire  to  do  so ;  and  this  impres- 
sion is  good  and  true.  But  beside  it,  like  a  horse  cantering 
beside  a  trotter,  there  is  another :  namely,  that  in  general  to 
try  to  enlighten  or  improve  the  condition  of  the  peasants  leads 
to  nothing  ;  and  this  impression  is  unpleasant.  But  the  mastery 
of  language,  the  way  it  is  told,  and  his  character-drawing,  are 
grand. 

In  January  1857  appeared  Youth,  the  continuation 
of  Childhood  and  Boyhood. 
How  great  Drouzhinin's  influence  was  with  Tolstoy  at 
this   time,  may  be  judged  by  the  tone  of  his  letter  to 
him,  giving  an  opinion  on  Youth.'    He  writes : 

About  Youth  one  ought  to  write  twenty  pages.  I  read  it 
with  anger,  with  yells  and  with  oaths — not  on  account  of  its 
literary  quality,  but  because  of  the  quality  of  the  notebooks  in 
which  it  is  written,  and  the  handwritings.  The  mixing  of 
two  hands,  a  known  and  an  unknown,  diverted  my  attention 
and  hindered  an  intelligent  perusal.  It  was  as  though  two 
voices  shouted  in  my  ear  and  purposely  distracted  my  attention, 
and  I  know  that  tliis  has  prevented  my  receiving  an  adequate 


PETERSBURG  159 

impression.  All  the  same  I  will  say  what  I  can.  Your  task 
was  a  terrible  one,  and  yon  have  executed  it  very  well.  No 
other  writer  of  our  day  could  have  so  seized  and  sketched  the 
agitated  and  disorderly  period  of  youth.  To  those  who  are 
developed,  your  Youth  will  furnish  an  immense  pleasure ;  and 
if  any  one  tells  you  it  is  inferior  to  Childhood  and  Boyhood  you 
may  spit  in  his  physiognomy.  There  is  a  world  of  poetry  in  it 
— all  the  first  chapters  are  admirable ;  only  the  introduction  is 
dry  till  one  reaches  the  description  of  spring.  .  .  In  many 
chapters  one  scents  the  poetic  charm  of  old  Moscow,  which 
no  one  has  yet  reproduced  properly.  Some  chapters  are  dry 
and  long  :  for  instance  all  the  stipulations  with  Dmitry  Neh- 
liidof.  .  .  .  The  conscription  of  Semyonof  will  not  pass  the 
Censor. 

Do  not  fear  your  reflections,  they  are  all  clever  and  original. 
But  you  have  an  inclination  to  a  super-refinement  of  analysis 
which  may  become  a  great  defect.  You  are  sometimes  on  the 
point  of  saying  that  so-and-so's  thigh  indicated  that  he  wished 
to  travel  in  India.  You  must  restrain  this  tendency,  but  do 
not  extinguish  it  on  any  account.  All  your  work  on  your 
analyses  should  be  of  the  same  kind.  Each  of  your  defects  has 
its  share  of  strength  and  beauty,  and  almost  every  one  of  your 
qualities  carries  with  it  the  seed  of  a  defect. 

Your  style  quite  accords  with  that  conclusion :  you  are  most 
ungramniatical,  sometimes  with  the  lack  of  grammar  of  a 
reformer  and  powerful  poet  reshaping  a  language  his  own  way 
and  for  ever,  but  sometimes  with  the  lack  of  grammar  of  an 
officer  sitting  in  a  casemate  and  writing  to  his  chum.  One  can 
say  with  assurance  that  all  the  pages  you  have  written  with 
love  are  admirable, — but  as  soon  as  you  grow  cold,  your  words 
become  entangled,  and  diabolical  forms  of  speech  appear. 
Therefore  the  parts  written  coldly  should  be  revised  and  cor- 
rected. I  tried  to  straighten  out  some  bits,  but  gave  it  up  ;  it 
is  a  work  which  only  you  can  and  must  do.  Above  all,  avoid 
long  sentences.  Cut  them  up  into  two  or  three;  do  not  be 
sparing  of  full-stops.  .  .  .  Do  not  stand  on  ceremony  with  the 
particles,  and  strike  out  by  dozens  the  words :  which,  who,  and 
that.  When  in  difficulties,  take  a  sentence  and  imagine  that 
you  want  to  say  it  to  some  one  in  a  most  conversational  way. 


160  LEO  TOLSTOY 

As  a  translator  I  may  testify  that  Tolstoy  never  fully 
learned  the  lesson  Drouzhinin  here  set  him,  and  that  to  the 
very  last  he  continued  occasionally  to  intermingle  passages  of 
extraordinary  simplicity  and  force  with  sentences  that  defy 
analysis  and  abound  in  redundances. 

Nearly  fifty  years  later  Tolstoy  himself  criticised  the 
subject-matter  of  Childhood,  Boyhood,  and  Youth  as 
follows  : 

I  have  re-read  them  and  regret  that  I  wrote  them ;  so  ill, 
artificially  and  insincerely  are  they  penned.  It  could  not  be 
otherwise :  first,  because  what  I  aimetl  at  was  not  to  write  my 
own  history  but  that  of  the  friends  of  my  youth^  and  this  pro- 
duced an  awkward  mixture  of  the  facts  of  their  and  my  own 
childhood  ;  and  secondly,  because  at  the  time  I  wrote  it  I  was 
far  from  being  independent  in  my  way  of  expressing  myself, 
being  strongly  influenced  by  two  writers :  Sterne  (his  Senti- 
mental Journey)  and  TopfFer  (his  Bihliotheque  de  Mon  Oncle). 

I  am  now  specially  dissatisfied  with  the  two  last  parts.  Boy- 
hood and  Youth,  in  which  besides  an  awkward  mixture  of  truth 
and  invention,  there  is  also  insincerity :  a  desire  to  put  forward 
as  good  and  important  what  I  did  not  then  consider  good  and 
important,  namely,  my  democratic  tendency. 

Before  concluding  this  chapter  it  will  be  in  place  to 
give  a  list  of  books  Tolstoy  mentions  as  having  influenced 
him  after  he  left  the  University  and  before  his  marriage. 
They  were :  Goethe"'s  Hermann  uvd  Dorothea ;  Hugo's 
Notre  Dame  de  Paris ;  Plato's  Phaedo  and  Symjwsium  (in 
Cousin's  French  translation) ;  and  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  in 
Russian  versions.  All  these,  he  says,  had  a  'very  great' 
influence  on  him,  while  the  poems  of  his  compatriots, 
Tiitchef,  Kditsof,  and  his  friend  Fet,  had  'great'  influence. 

He  tells  us  that  artistic  talent  in  literature  influenced 
him  more  than  any  political  or  social  tendency ;  and  this  is 
quite  in  accord  both  with  his  highly  artistic  nature  and 
with  his  general  apathy  towards  public  afl'airs.  There  was 
a  Slavophil   theory  (built  to  justify  things  as  they  were) 


PETERSBURG  161 

which  proclaimed  it  natural  for  a  Slavonic  people  to  leave 
the  task  of  governing  to  its  rulers,  while  retaining  its 
intellectual  freedom  to  disapprove  of  what  was  done  amiss  ; 
and  though  Tolstoy  never  joined  the  Slavophils,  this  has 
been  very  much  his  own  attitude  on  the  matter. 

Even  in  early  childhood  he  had  appreciated  some  of 
Poushkin's  poems,  such  as  To  the  Sea  and  To  Napoleon, 
and  had  learned  them  by  heart  and  recited  them  with 
feeling ;  but  curiously  enough  it  was  the  perusal  of 
Merimee's  French  prose  translation  of  Poiishkin's  Gipsies 
that,  after  he  was  grown  up,  aroused  Tolstoy's  keen  admira- 
tion of  Poushkin's  mastery  of  clear,  simple,  direct  language. 
Later  in  life  Tolstoy  used  to  say  that  Poushkin's  prose 
stories,  such  as  The  Captain's  Daughter,  are  his  best  works  ; 
but  he  never  lost  his  appreciation  of  Poushkin's  power  of 
expression  in  verse.  In  his  Diary  (4th  January  1857)  he 
wrote : 

I  dined  at  Botkin's  with  Pan^ef  alone ;  he  read  me  Poiishkin ; 
I  went  into  Botkin's  study  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Tourgenef,  and 
then  I  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and  wept  causeless  but  blissful 
tears.  I  am  positively  happy  all  this  time,  intoxicated  with  the 
rapidity  of  my  moral  progress. 

Despite  his  headstrong  outbursts  and  many  vacillations, 
he  seems  to  have  been  always  a  welcome  guest  in  almost 
any  society  he  cared  to  frequent,  and  none  of  his  critics  has 
spoken  as  harshly  of  him  as  he  speaks  of  himself  when 
describing  these 

terrible  twenty  years  of  coarse  dissipation,  the  service  of 
ambition,  vanity,  and  above  all  of  lust.  ...  It  is  true  that  not 
all  my  life  was  so  terribly  bad  as  this  twenty-year  period  from 
fourteen  to  thirty-four ;  and  it  is  true  that  even  that  period  of 
my  life  was  not  the  continuous  evil  that  during  a  recent  illness 
it  appeared  to  me  to  be.  Even  during  those  years,  strivings 
towards  goodness  awoke  in  me,  though  they  did  not  last  long, 
and  were  soon  choked  by  passions  nothing  could  restrain. 

L 


162  LEO  TOLSTOY 

In  his  Confession,  written  more  than  twenty  years  later, 
when  speaking  of  his  religious  beliefs  at  this  time,  Tolstoy 
tells  us : 

With  all  my  soul  I  wished  to  be  good  ;  but  I  was  young, 
passionate,  and  alone,  completely  alone  when  I  sought  good- 
ness. Every  time  I  tried  to  express  my  most  sincere  desire, 
namely,  to  be  morally  good,  I  met  with  contempt  and  ridicule ; 
but  as  soon  as  I  yielded  to  nasty  passions  I  was  praised  and 
encouraged. 

Ambition,  love  of  power,  covetousness,  lasciviousness,  pride, 
anger  and  revenge — were  all  respected.  ...  I  cannot  think  of 
those  years  without  horror,  loathing  and  heartache.  I  killed 
men  in  war,  and  challenged  men  to  duels  in  order  to  kill  them; 
I  lost  at  cards^  consumed  the  labour  of  the  peasants,  sentenced 
them  to  punishments,  lived  loosely  and  deceived  people.  Lying, 
robbery,  adultery  of  all  kinds,  drunkenness,  violence,  murder — 
there  was  no  crime  I  did  not  commit,  and  people  approved  of 
my  conduct,  and  ray  contemporaries  considered  and  consider 
me  to  be  a  comparatively  moral  man. 

So  I  lived  for  ten  years. 

During  that  time  I  began  to  write  from  vanity,  covetousness 
and  pride.  In  my  writings  I  did  the  same  as  in  my  life.  To 
get  fame  and  money,  for  the  sake  of  which  I  wrote,  it  was 
necessary  to  hide  the  good  and  to  show  the  evil.  And  I  did  so. 
How  often  in  my  writings  did  I  contrive  to  hide  under  the 
guise  of  indifference  or  even  of  banter,  those  strivings  of  mine 
towards  goodness,  which  gave  meaning  to  my  life !  And  I 
succeeded  in  this,  and  was  praised. 

At  twenty-six  years  of  age^  I  returned  to  Petersburg  after 
the  war,  and  met  the  writers.  They  received  me  as  one  of 
themselves  and  flattered  me.  And  before  I  had  time  to  look 
round  I  had  adopted  the  class  views  on  life  of  the  authors 
I  had  come  among,  and  these  views  completely  obliterated  all 
my  former  strivings  to  improve.  Those  views  furnished  a 
theory  which  justified  the  dissoluteness  of  my  life.  The  view 
of  life  of  these  people,  my  comrades  in  authorship,  consisted 
in  this  :  that  life  in  general  goes  on  developing,  and  in  this 

1  Tolstoy  makes  a  slip  here  :  he  was  over  twenty-seven. 


PETERSBURG  163 

development  we — men  of  thought — have  the  chief  part;  and 
among  men  of  thought  it  is  we — artists  and  poets — who  have 
the  chief  influence.  Our  vocation  is  to  teach  mankind.  And 
lest  the  simple  question  should  suggest  itself:  What  do  I 
know,  and  what  can  I  teach  ?  it  is  explained  in  this  theory 
that  this  need  not  be  known,  and  that  the  artist  and  poet 
teach  unconsciously.  I  was  considered  an  admirable  artist  and 
poet,  and  therefore  it  was  very  natural  for  me  to  adopt  this 
theory.  I,  artist  and  poet,  wrote  and  taught,  without  myself 
knowing  what.  For  this  I  was  paid  money ;  I  had  excellent 
food,  lodging,  women  and  society;  and  I  had  fame,  which 
showed  that  what  I  taught  was  very  good. 

This  faith  in  the  meaning  of  poetry  and  in  the  development 
of  life,  was  a  religion,  and  I  was  one  of  its  priests.  To  be 
its  priest  was  very  pleasant  and  profitable.  And  I  lived  a 
considerable  time  in  this  faith  without  doubting  its  validity. 
But  in  the  second,  and  especially  in  the  third  year  of  this  life, 
I  began  to  doubt  the  infallibility  of  this  religion  and  to  examine 
it.  My  first  cause  of  doubt  was  that  I  began  to  notice  that 
the  priests  of  this  religion  were  not  all  in  accord  among  them- 
selves. Some  said :  We  are  the  best  and  most  useful  teachers  ; 
we  teach  what  is  wanted,  but  the  others  teach  wrongly.  Others 
said :  No  !  we  are  the  real  teachers,  and  you  teach  wrongly. 
And  they  disputed,  quarrelled,  abused  one  another,  cheated, 
and  tricked  one  another.  There  were  also  many  among  them 
who  did  not  care  who  was  right  and  who  was  wrong,  but  were 
simply  bent  on  attaining  their  covetous  aims  by  means  of  this 
activity  of  ours.  All  this  obliged  me  to  doubt  the  validity  of 
our  creed. 

Moreover,  having  begun  to  doubt  the  truth  of  the  authors' 
creed  itself,  I  also  began  to  observe  its  priests  more  attentively, 
and  I  became  convinced  that  almost  all  the  priests  of  that 
religion,  the  writers,  were  immoral,  and  for  the  most  part  men 
of  bad,  worthless  character,  much  inferior  to  those  whom  I  had 
met  in  my  former  dissipated  and  military  life ;  but  they  were 
self-confident  and  self-assured  as  only  those  can  be  who  are 
quite  holy  or  who  do  not  know  what  holiness  is.  These  people 
revolted  me,  and  I  became  revolting  to  myself,  and  I  realised 
that  that  faith  is  a  fraud. 


164  LEO  TOLSTOY 

But  strange  to  say,  though  I  understood  this  fraud  and 
renounced  it,  yet  I  did  not  renounce  the  rank  these  people 
gave  me :  the  rank  of  artist,  poet,  and  teacher.  I  naively 
imagined  that  I  was  a  poet  and  artist  and  could  teach  every- 
body without  myself  knowing  what  I  was  teaching,  and  I  acted 
on  that  assumption. 

From  my  intimacy  with  these  men  I  acquired  a  new  vice : 
abnormally  developed  pride,  and  an  insane  assurance  that  it  was 
my  vocation  to  teach  men,  without  knowing  what. 

To  remember  that  time,  and  my  own  state  of  mind  and 
that  of  those  men  (though  there  are  thousands  like  them 
to-day)  is  sad  and  terrible  and  ludicrous,  and  arouses  exactly 
the  feeling  one  experiences  in  a  lunatic  asylum. 

We  were  all  then  convinced  that  it  was  necessary  for  us  to 
speak,  write,  and  print  as  quickly  as  possible  and  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, and  that  it  was  all  wanted  for  the  good  of  humanity.  And 
thousands  of  us,  contradicting  and  abusing  one  another,  all 
printed  and  wrote — teaching  others.  And  without  remarking 
that  we  knew  nothing,  and  that  to  the  simplest  of  life's  ques- 
tions :  What  is  good  and  what  is  evil .''  we  did  not  know  how 
to  reply,  we  all,  not  listening  to  one  another,  talked  at  the 
same  time,  sometimes  backing  and  praising  one  another  in 
order  to  be  backed  and  praised  in  turn,  sometimes  getting 
angry  with  one  another — ^just  as  in  a  lunatic  asylum. 

Thousands  of  workmen  laboured  to  the  extreme  limit  of  their 
strength  day  and  night  setting  the  type  and  printing  millions 
of  words  which  the  post  carried  all  over  Russia,  and  we  still 
went  on  teaching  and  could  nohow  find  time  to  teach  enough, 
and  were  always  angry  that  sufficient  attention  was  not  paid 
to  us. 

It  was  terribly  strange,  but  is  now  quite  comprehensible. 
Our  real  innermost  consideration  was,  that  we  wanted  to  get  as 
much  money  and  praise  as  possible.  To  gain  this  end  we  could 
do  nothing  except  write  books  and  papers.  So  we  did  that. 
But  in  order  to  do  such  useless  work  and  feel  assured  that  we 
were  very  important  people,  we  required  a  theory  justifying  our 
activity.  And  so  among  us  this  theory  was  devised  :  '  All  that 
exists  develops.  And  it  all  develops  by  means  of  Culture. 
And   Culture   is   measured  by  the    circulation   of  books  and 


PETERSBURG  165 

newspapers.  And  we  are  paid  money  and  are  respected 
because  we  write  books  and  newspapers,  and  therefore  we  are 
the  most  useful  and  the  best  of  men.'  This  theory  would  have 
been  all  very  well  if  we  had  been  unanimous,  but  as  every 
thought  expressed  by  one  of  us  was  always  met  by  a  diametrically 
opposed  thought  expressed  by  some  one  else,  we  ought  to  have 
been  driven  to  reflection.  But  we  ignored  this  ;  people  paid  us 
money,  and  those  on  our  side  praised  us;  so  each  one  of  us 
considered  himself  justified. 


CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  V 

Birukof. 

Behrs. 

A.  Fet  (Shenshin) :  Mot  Vospominaniya,  Moscow,  1890.  These 
Recollections  contain  much  authentic  information  about  Tolstoy,  as 
well  as  a  large  number  of  his  letters  to  Fet,  which  I  have  quoted  in 
subsequent  chapters. 

Bitovt. 

Golovatcheva-Panaeva,  Rousskie  Pisafelii  Ardsty :  Petersburg,  1890. 

D.  V,  Grigorovitch,  Literatourniya  Vospominaniya :  vol.  xii.  p.  326. 

G.  P.  Danilevsky,  Istoritcheskii  Vestnik :  March  1886. 

P.  A.  Sergeyenko,  Tourgenefi  Tolstoy:  Niva,  No.  6,  1906. 

Tolstoy's  Confession. 

See  also,  in  Tolstoy's  works.  The  Decembrists,  chap.  i. 


CHAPTER    VI 

TRAVELS   ABROAD 

Paris.  Relations  with  Tourgenef.  Albert.  An  execution. 
Switzerland.  Lucerne.  Yasnaya  again.  The  Hiad  and  the 
Gospels.  Moscow:  gymnastics.  Three  Deaths.  Musical 
Society.  Aunty  Tatiana.  '  Ufanizing.*  Emancipation. 
Bear-hunting.  Moscow  Society  of  Lovers  of  Russian  Litera- 
ture. Attitude  towards  Art  in  1859.  Tourgenef.  Farming. 
Fet.  Drouzhinin.  Nicholas's  illness.  Goes  abroad  again. 
Germany.  Educational  studies.  Auerbach.  Nicholas  dies. 
Life  at  Hyeres :  children.  Italy.  Marseilles.  Paris.  Paul 
de  Kock.  London.  Herzen.  Proudhon.  Polikoushka. 
Auerbach  again.     Returns  home. 

Since  he  took  part  in  the  Turkish  war  in  1854,  Tolstoy 

has  only  twice  been  out  of  Russia.     The  first  time  was  at 

the  period  we  have  now  reached.      On  10th  Feb- 

-I  OK^  ^ 

ruary  1857  (new  style)  he  left  Moscow  by  post- 
chaise  for  Warsaw,  from  whence  a  railway  already  ran 
westward.  He  reached  Paris  on  21st  February.  There 
he  met  Tourgenef  and  Nekrasof,  with  the  former  of  whom 
he  was  still  unable  to  get  on  smoothly.  Tourgenef  writes  : 
*  With  Tolstoy  I  still  cannot  become  quite  intimate ;  we 
see  things  too  differently ' ;  and  in  some  moment  of  anger 
Tolstoy  even  challenged  his  fellow -writer  to  a  duel.^ 
Nekrdsof  appears  to  have  patched  matters  up,  and  in 
March  Tolstoy  and  Tourgenef  went  to  Dijon  together, 
and  spent  some  days  there.  During  this  trip  Tolstoy 
commenced   his   story   Albert,   founded    on   his   experience 

'  See  GolovAtcheva-Panaeva's  Rousskie  Pisateli  i  Artisty, 
166 


ABROAD  167 

with  the  talented  but  drunken  musician  Rudolf,  already 
mentioned  in  Chapter  III.  After  he  had  returned  to  Paris, 
he  was  present  at  an  execution,  and  made  the  following 
jotting  in  his  Diary  : 

I  rose  at  seven  o'clock  and  drove  to  see  an  execution.  A 
stout,  white,  healthy  neck  and  breast :  he  kissed  the  Gospels, 
and  then — Death.  How  senseless.  ...  I  have  not  received 
this  strong  impression  for  naught.  I  am  not  a  man  of  politics. 
Morals  and  art  I  know,  love,  and  can  (deal  with).  The 
guillotine  long  prevented  my  sleeping  and  obliged  me  to 
reflect. 

Tolstoy  has  a  gift  of  telling  the  essential  truth  in  few 
words,  and  never  did  he  sum  himself  up  better  than  in  the 
sentences,  '  I  am  not  a  man  of  politics.  Morals  and  art  I 
know,  love,  and  can.'  There  is  hardly  any  possible  room 
for  doubt  about  the  second  sentence,  and  there  is  certainly 
none  about  the  first,  as  his  whole  life  shows. 

Many  years  later,  he  wrote  of  this  event  ih  his  Con- 
fession : 

When  I  saw  the  head  separate  from  the  body,  and  how  they 
both  thumped  into  the  box  at  the  same  moment,  I  understood, 
not  with  my  mind  but  with  my  whole  being,  that  no  theory  of 
the  reasonableness  of  our  present  progress  can  justify  this  deed  ; 
and  that  though  everybody  from  the  creation  of  the  world,  on 
whatever  theory,  had  held  it  to  be  necessary,  I  know  it  to  be 
unnecessary  and  bad ;  and  therefore  the  arbiter  of  what  is  good 
and  evil  is  not  what  people  say  and  do,  and  is  not  progress,  but 
is  my  heart  and  I. 

It  was  probably  during  this  visit  to  Paris  that  Tolstoy 
witnessed  and  admired  Chevefs  popularisation  of  music  by 
an  easy  system  of  instruction,  of  which  he  says : 

I  have  seen  hundreds  of  horny-handed  working  men  sitting 
on  benches  (under  which  lay  the  tool-bags  they  brought  from 
their  work)  singing  at  sight,  and  understanding  and  being 
interested  in  the  laws  of  music. 


168  LEO  TOLSTOY 

This  experience  he  utilised  later  on  in  his  school  at 
Ydsnaya. 

In  spring  he  went  to  Switzerland,  and  from  Geneva  he 
wrote  to  his  Aunt  Tatidna  : 

*  J'ai  passe  un  mois  et  demi  k  Paris,  et  si  agreablement  que 
tous  les  jours  je  me  suis  dit,  que  j'ai  bien  fait  de  venir  h 
I'etranger.  Je  suis  tres  peu  alle  ni  dans  la  societe,  ni  dans  le 
monde  litteraire,  ni  dans  le  monde  des  cafes  et  des  bals  publics, 
mais  malgre  cela  j'ai  trouve  ici  tant  de  choses  nouvelles  et 
interessantes  pour  moi,  que  tous  les  jours,  en  me  couchant,  je 
me  dis,  quel  dommage  que  la  journee  est  passee  si  vite ;  je 
n'ai  meme  pas  eu  le  temps  de  travailler,  ce  que  je  me  proposais 
de  faire. 

Le  pauvre  Turgenef  est  tr^s  raalade  physiquement  et  encore 
plus  moralement,  Sa  malheureuse  liaison  avec  Madame  Viardot, 
et  sa  fille,  le  retiennent  ici  dans  un  climat  qui  lui  est  pernicieux 
et  il  fait  pitie  de  voir.  Je  n'aurais  jamais  cru  qu'il  put  aimer 
ainsi. 

Tolstoy's  friends  Drouzhinin  and  V.  P.  Botkin  visited 
Geneva  at  this  time,  and  they  all  three  went  on  a  walking 
tour  into  Piedmont  together.  After  that  he  settled  at 
Clarens  on   the    lake   of  Geneva,  from  whence  he   again 

wrote  to  Aunt  Tatiana  : 

18  Mai  1857. 
t  Je  viens  de  recevoir  voire  lettre,  ch^re  tante,  qui  m'a  trouvee 

*  I  spent  a  month-and-a-half  in  Paris,  and  so  agreeably  that  every 
day  I  said  to  myself  that  I  had  done  well  to  come  abroad.  I  went  very 
little  either  into  society  or  into  the  literary  world,  or  into  the  world  of 
cafes  and  public  balls  ;  but  in  spite  of  that  I  found  so  many  things 
that  were  new  and  interesting  to  me,  that  every  day  on  going  to  bed 
I  said  to  myself,  *  What  a  pity  the  day  has  passed  so  quickly.'  I  have 
not  even  had  time  to  work,  which  I  intended  to  do. 

Poor  Tourgenef  is  very  ill  physically,  and  still  more  so  morally. 
His  daughter,  and  especially  his  unfortunate  liaison  with  Madame 
Viardot,  keep  him  here  in  a  climate  which  is  bad  for  him,  and  it 
makes  one  sad  to  see  him.  I  should  never  have  believed  that  he 
could  be  BO  in  love. 

1 1  have  just  received  your  letter,  dear  Aunt,  which  found  me,  as  you 


ABROAD  169 

comme  vous  devez  le  savoir  d'apr^s  ma  derni^re  lettre,  aux 
environs  de  Geneve  k  Clarens  dans  ce  meme  villagCj  ou  a 
demeure  la  Julia  de  Rousseau.  .  .  .  Je  n'essaierai  pas  de  vous 
depeindre  la  beaute  de  ce  pays,  surtout  k  present,  quand  tout 
est  en  feuilles  et  en  fleurs;  je  vous  dirai  seulement,  qu'a  la 
lettre  il  est  impossible  de  se  detacher  de  ce  lac  et  de  ces 
rivages  et  que  je  passe  la  plus  grande  partie  de  mon  temps  k 
regarder  et  k  admirer  en  me  promenant,  ou  bien  en  me  mettant 
seulement  k  la  fenetre  de  ma  chambre. 

Je  ne  cesse  de  me  feliciter  de  I'idee  que  j'ai  eu  de  quitter 
Paris  et  de  venir  passer  le  printemps  ici,  quoique  cela  m'ait 
merite  de  votre  part  le  reproche  d'inconstance.  Vraiment,  je 
suis  heureux,  and  begin  to  feel  the  advantage  of  having  been 
born  with  a  caul. 

II  y  a  ici  societe  charmante  de  russes  :  les  Poushkins,  the 
Karamzins  and  the  Mestcherskys ;  and  they  have  all,  Heaven 
knows  why,  taken  to  liking  me  ;  I  feel  it,  and  the  month  I  have 
spent  here  I  have  been  so  nice  and  good  and  cosy,  that  I  am 
sad  at  the  thought  of  leaving. 

From  Clarens  he  took  steamer  to  Montreux,  and  from 
there  went  on  foot,  taking  with  him  as  companion  a  ten- 
year-old  lad  named  Sasha,  the  son  of  some  Russians  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  made  at  Clarens.  They  crossed  the 
Pass  of  Jamon  and,  after  changing  their  minds  as  to  the 


must  know  from  my  last  letter,  at  Clarens,  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Geneva,  in  the  same  village  where  Rousseau's  Julie  lived.  ...  I  will 
not  try  to  depict  the  beauty  of  this  country,  especially  at  present 
when  all  is  in  leaf  and  flower ;  I  will  only  say  that  it  is  literally  im- 
possible to  detach  oneself  from  this  lake  and  from  these  banks,  and 
that  I  spend  most  of  my  time  gazing  and  admiring  while  I  walk,  or 
simply  sit  at  the  window  of  my  room. 

I  do  not  cease  congratulating  myself  on  the  thought  which  made 
me  leave  Paris  and  come  to  pass  the  spring  here,  though  I  have 
thereby  deserved  your  reproach  for  inconstancy.  Truly  I  am  happy, 
and  begin  to  feel  the  advantage  of  having  been  born  with  a  caul. 

There  is  some  charming  Russian  society  here  .  .  .  (see  English  in 
letter  above). 


170  LEO  TOLSTOY 

direction  they  would  take,  finally  made  for  Chateau  d'Oex, 
from  whence  they  proceeded  by  diligence  to  Thun.  From 
that  town  Tolstoy  went  on  to  Lucerne,  which  he  reached 
in  July  1857. 

Again  and  again  in  his  Diary  and  letters  Tolstoy's 
vivid  delight  in  Nature  shows  itself  in  descriptions  of  the 
scenery  :  '  It  is  wonderful,'  he  writes,  '  but  I  was  at  Clarens 
for  two  months,  and  every  time — when  in  the  morning, 
and  especially  after  dinner  towards  evening — I  opened  the 
shutters  on  which  the  shadows  were  already  falling,  and 
glanced  at  the  lake  and  the  distant  blue  of  the  mountains 
reflected  in  it,  the  beauty  blinded  me  and  acted  on  me 
with  the  force  of  a  surprise.""  But  together  with  this  keen 
appreciation,  comes  now  and  then  a  sort  of  protest  that 
this  grandiose  Swiss  mountain  scenery  is,  after  all,  not  the 
Nature  that  most  appeals  to  him — a  yearning  for  the  vast 
steppes  and  forests  of  his  native  land.  After  ascending 
the  Pass  of  Jamon  and  describing  the  magnificent  scenery 
and  the  pleasure  of  the  climb,  he  adds : 

It  was  something  beautiful,  even  unusually  beautiful^  but  I  do 
not  love  what  are  called  magnificent  and  remarkable  views : 
they  are,  as  it  were,  cold,  ...  I  love  Nature  when,  though  it 
surrounds  me  on  all  sides  and  extends  unendingly,  I  am  part  of 
it.  I  love  it,  when  on  all  sides  I  am  surrounded  by  hot  air,  and 
that  same  air  rolls  away  to  unending  distance,  and  those  same 
sappy  leaves  of  grass  which  I  crush  as  I  sit  on  them,  form  the 
green  of  the  boundless  meadows ;  when  those  same  leaves 
which,  fluttering  in  the  wind,  run  their  shadows  across  my  face, 
form  also  the  dark  blue  of  the  distant  forests;  while  the  same 
air  one  breathes  makes  the  deep,  light  blue  of  the  immeasur- 
able sky ;  when  you  do  not  exult  and  rejoice  alone  in  Nature, 
but  when  around  you  myriads  of  insects  buzz  and  whirl,  and 
beetles,  clinging  together,  creep  about,  and  all  around  you 
birds  overflow  with  song. 

But  this  is  bare,  cold,  desolate,  grey  plateau ;  and  somewhere 
afar  there  is  something  beautiful  veiled  with  mist.  But  that 
something  is  so  distant  that  I  do  not  feel  the  chief  delight  of 


ABROAD  171 

Nature — do  not  feel  myself  a  part  of  that  endless  and  beautiful 
distance  :  it  is  foreign  to  me. 

From  Lucerne  he  writes  : 

*  Je  suis  de  nouveau  tout  seul,  et  je  vous  avouerai  que  tr^s 
souvent  la  solitude  m'est  penible,  car  les  connaissances  qu'on 
fait  dans  les  hotels  et  en  chemin  de  far  ne  sont  pas  des 
ressources ;  mais  cet  isolement  a  du  moins  le  bon  cote  de  me. 
pousser  au  travail.  Je  travaille  un  peu,  mais  cela  va  mal, 
corame  d'ordinaire  en  ete. 

It  was  here  that  the  incident  occurred  described  in 
Lucerne^  a  sketch  published  in  the  September  number  of 
the  Contemporary  that  same  year,  and  one  which  in  its 
fierce  castigation  of  the  rich  is  a  precursor  of  much  that 
he  wrote  thirty  years  later.  Especially  the  conduct  of  the 
wealthy  English  tourists  roused  his  ire.  The  particular 
incident  the  story  deals  with  is  this : 

On  7  July  1857,  in  Lucerne,  in  front  of  the  Schweizerhof 
Hotels  where  the  richest  people  stay,  an  itinerant  mendicant- 
singer  sang  songs  and  played  his  guitar  for  half-an-hour. 
About  a  hundred  people  listened  to  him.  Three  times  the 
singer  asked  them  to  give  him  something,  but  not  one  of  them 
did  so,  and  many  laughed  at  him. 

This  is  not  fiction,  but  a  positive  fact,  which  any  one  who 
cares  may  verify  by  asking  the  permanent  inhabitants  of  the 
Schweizerhof,  and  by  looking  up  the  newspaper  lists  of  foreign 
visitors  at  the  Schweizerhof  on  7  July. 

It  is  an  event  which  the  historians  of  our  times  should 
inscribe  in  indelible  letters  of  fire. 

In  the  story,  Prince  Nehliidof,  indignant  at  such  treat- 
ment of  a  man  who  was  a  real  artist  and  whose  songs  all 

*  I  am  again  all  alone,  and  I  confess  that  very  often  the  solitude  is 
painful  to  me,  for  the  acquaintanceships  one  makes  in  hotels  and  on 
the  railways  are  not  a  resource.  But  there  is  at  least  this  much  good 
in  this  loneliness — it  prompts  me  to  work.  1  am  working  a  little, 
hut  it  goes  badly,  as  usual  in  summer. 


172  LEO  TOLSTOY 

had  enjoyed,  brought  the  singer  into  the  hotel  and  treated 
him  to  a  bottle  of  wine.      He  goes  on  to  ask  himself : 

Which  is  more  a  man,  and  which  more  a  barbarian :  the  lord 
who,  on  seeing  the  singer's  worn-out  clothes,  angrily  left  the 
table,  and  for  his  service  did  not  give  him  a  millionth  part  of 
his  property,  and  who  now  sits  satiated,  in  a  well-lit,  comfort- 
able room,  calmly  discussing  the  affairs  of  China  and  approving 
the  murders  that  are  being  committed  there — or  the  little 
singer  who  with  a  franc  in  his  pocket,  risking  imprisonment, 
has  tramped  over  hill  and  dale  for  twenty  years,  harming  no 
one  but  cheering  many  by  his  songs,  and  whom  they  insulted 
to-day  and  all  but  turned  out,  leaving  him — weary,  hungry  and 
humiliated — to  make  his  bed  somewhere  on  rotting  straw  ? 

After  passing  a  few  weeks  at  Lucerne,  Tolstoy  returned 
to  Russia  via  Stuttgart,  Berlin,  and  Stettin,  from  which 
port  he  took  steamer  to  Petersburg,  and  after  staying  a 
week  there  to  see  Nekrasof  and  meet  his  colleagues  of 
the  Contemporary,  he  went  through  Moscow  to  Yasnaya, 
where  he  arrived  in  August.  In  his  Diary  we  find  this 
note : 

This  is  how,  on  my  journey,  I  planned  my  future  occupa- 
tions :  first,  litei'ary  work ;  next,  family  duties ;  then,  estate 
management.  But  the  estate  I  must  leave  as  far  as  possible 
to  the  steward,  softening  him  and  making  improvements,  and 
spending  only  Rs.  2000  a  year  [then  equal  to  about  £270],  and 
using  the  rest  for  the  serfs.  Above  all,  my  stumbling-block  is 
Liberal  vanity.  To  live  for  oneself  and  do  a  good  deed  a  day, 
is  sufficient. 

Further  on  he  says  :  '  Self-sacrifice  does  not  lie  in  saying 
"  Take  what  you  like  from  me,"  but  in  labouring  and 
thinking,  and  contriving  how  to  give  oneself.' 

At  this  time  he  read  (in  translation)  the  Iliad  and  the 
Gospels,  which  both  impressed  him  greatly.  *  I  have 
finished  reading  the  indescribably  beautiful  end  of  the 
Iliad,''  he  notes,  and  expresses  his  regret  that  there  is  no 
connection  between  those  two  wonderful  works. 


ABROAD  173 

In  October  he  first  accompanied  his  brother  Nicholas 
and  his  sister  Mary  to  Moscow,  and  then  spent  a  few  days 
in  Petersburg,  where  he  found  that  he  had  been  forgotten 
by  a  world  absorbed  in  the  great  measures  of  public 
reform  then  in  course  of  preparation.  Here  is  a  sentence 
from  his  Diarv : 

Petersburg  at  first  mortified  me  and  then  put  me  right.  My 
reputation  has  fallen  and  hardly  gives  a  squeak,  and  I  felt 
much  hurt ;  but  now  I  am  tranquil.  I  know  I  have  something 
to  say  and  strength  to  say  it  strongly ;  and  the  public  may  then 
say  what  it  will.  But  I  must  work  conscientiously,  exerting  all 
my  powers ;  then  ...  let  them  spit  upon  the  altar. 

By  the  end  of  October  (old  style)  he  was  back  in 
Moscow,  established  in  furnished  apartments  in  the 
Py^tnitsky  Street,  with  his  sister  and  his  brother  Nicholas. 
His  friend  Fet  was  also  in  Moscow  at  this  time,  and  in  his 
Recollections  makes  frequent  mention  of  the  Tolstoys.  He 
tells  us  that  the  Countess  Mary  (who  was  an  exceedingly 
accomplished  pianist)  used  to  come  to  his  house  for  music 
in  the  evenings,  accompanied  sometimes  by  both  her 
brothers  and  sometimes  by  Nicholas  alone,  who  would  say  : 

*  Lydvotchka  has  again  donned  his  evening  clothes  and 
white  necktie,  and  gone  to  a  ball.*' 

Tolstoy's  elegance  in  dress  was  very  noticeable  at  this 
period.  We  read  of  the  grey  beaver  collar  of  his  overcoat, 
of  a  fashionable  cane  he  carried,  and  of  the  glossy  hat  he 
wore  placed  on  one  side,  as  well  as  of  his  curly,  dark-brown 
hair. 

Gymnastics  were  fashionable  in  Moscow  in  those  days, 
and  any  one  wishing  to  find  Tolstoy  between  one  and  two 
©""clock  in  the  afternoon,  could  do  so  at  the  Gymnasium  on 
the  Great  Dmitrovka  Street,  where,  dressed  in  gymnastic 
attire,  he  might  be  seen  intent  on  springing  over  the 
vaulting-horse  without  upsetting  a  cone  placed  on  its  back. 
He  always  was   expert   at  physical  exercises  :  a  first-rate 


174  LEO  TOLSTOY 

horseman,  quick  at  all  games  and  sports,  a  swimmer,  and 
an  excellent  skater. 

Among  the  visitors  Fet  met  at  Tolstoy's  house  we  note 
the  name  of  Saltykof,  who  under  the  pseudonym  of 
Stchedrin  is  known  as  one  of  the  keenest  and  most  powerful 
of  Russia's  satirists,  and  who  during  the  last  seven  years 
of  the  reign  of  Nicholas  I  had  lived  in  banishment  in  the 
far-ofF  town  of  Vyatka.  Another  guest  was  B.  N.  Tchitcherin , 
philosopher  and  jurist,  and  author  of  works  on  Science  and 
Religion,  Property  and  the  State,  and  other  subjects 
Tolstoy  dealt  with  three  or  four  decades  later.  Katkdf, 
editor  of  the  Moscow  Gazette  and  monthly  Russian 
Messenger,  was  another  acquaintance  ;  and  in  his  magazine 
some  of  Tolstoy's  chief  works  appeared. 

In  January  1858  Tolstoy's  aunt,  who  had  been  a  friend 

of  his  boyhood,  the  Countess  Alexandra  A.  Tolstoy,  Maid 

of  Honour   to    the   Grand  Duchess  Marva  Niko- 

1  ORQ  .' 

layevna,  came  to  Moscow.  Through  this  aunt 
(who  lived  to  a  great  age,  and  died  only  a  few  years  ago) 
Tolstoy  used  to  receive  information  of  what  went  on  at 
Court,  and  was  sometimes  able  indirectly  to  exert  influence 
'  in  the  highest  circles.'  When  she  returned  to  Petersburg 
Tolstoy  accompanied  her  as  far  as  the  town  of  Klin,  on  the 
Nicholas  railway,  and  took  the  opportunity  to  visit  the 
Princess  Volkdnsky  (a  cousin  of  his  mother's),  who  had  a 
small  estate  in  those  parts.  He  remained  some  weeks  with 
this  affectionate  old  lady,  who  told  him  much  about  his 
mother  and  her  family,  and  he  greatly  enjoyed  his  quiet 
stay  with  her.  At  her  house  he  wrote  TJiree  Deaths,  which 
appeared  the  following  January  in  The  Reading  Library. 
It  is  an  admirably  written  study  of  the  deaths  of  a  rich 
lady,  a  poor  post-horse  driver,  and  a  tree. 

In  February  he  returned  to  Yasnaya  Polyana;  then 
again  visited  Moscow,  and  in  March  spent  a  fortnight  in 
Petersburg.  His  love  of  music  reasserted  itself  strongly 
at  this   period ;    and    in   conjunction  with  V.   P.  Botkin, 


ABROAD  175 

Perfilief,  Mortier  (his  late  rival  in  love)  and  others,  he 
founded  the  Moscow  Musical  Society,  which  ultimately 
resulted  in  the  formation  of  the  Moscow  Conservatoire 
of  which  Nicholas  Rubinstein  became  Director. 

One  of  Tolstoy's  most  intimate  acquaintances  at  this 
period  was  S.  T.  Aksakof,  author  of  stories  and  memoirs, 
lover  of  hunting  and  fishing,  and  father  of  two  famous 
sons,  both  prominent  Slavophil  leaders. 

The  invigorating  influence  of  spring  shows  itself  in  a 
letter  Tolstoy  wrote  about  this  time  to  his  aunt,  the 
Countess  A.  A.  Tolstoy  (whom  he  calls  '  Grandma ') : 

Grandma  ! — Spring  ! 

For  good  people  it  is  excellent  to  live  in  the  world ;  and  even 
for  such  men  as  me,  it  is  sometimes  good.  In  Nature,  in  the 
air,  in  everything,  is  hope,  future — an  attractive  future.  .  .  . 
Sometimes  one  deceives  oneself  and  thinks  that  happiness  and 
a  future  await  not  only  Nature  but  oneself  also,  and  then  one 
feels  happy.  I  am  now  in  such  a  state,  and  with  characteristic 
egotism  hasten  to  write  to  you  of  things  that  interest  only  me. 
When  I  review  things  sanely,  I  know  very  well  that  I  am  an 
old,  frozen  little  potato,  and  one  already  boiled  with  sauce  ;  but 
spring  so  acts  on  me  that  I  sometimes  catch  myself  in  the  full 
blaze  of  imagining  myself  a  plant  which  with  others  has  only 
now  blossomed,  and  which  will  peacefully,  simply  and  joyfully 
grow  in  God's  world.  The  result  is  that  at  this  time  of  year, 
such  an  internal  clearing-out  goes  on  in  me,  such  a  cleansing 
and  ordering,  as  only  those  who  have  experienced  this  feeling 
can  imagine.  All  the  old — away !  All  worldly  conventions, 
all  idleness,  all  egotism,  all  vices,  all  confused  indefinite  attach- 
ments, all  regrets,  even  repentances — away  with  you  all  !  .  .  . 
Make  room  for  the  wonderful  little  flowers  whose  buds  are 
swelling  and  growing  with  the  spring  !  .  .  • 

After  much  more  he  concludes : 

Farewell,  dear  Grandma,  do  not  be  angry  with  me  for  this 
nonsense,  but  answer  with  a  word  of  wisdom,  imbued  with  kind- 
ness, Christian  kindness  !     I  have  long  wished  to  say  that  for 


176  LEO  TOLSTOY 

you  it  is  pleasanter  to  write  French,  and  I  understand  feminine 
thoughts  better  in  French. 

In  April  he  was  again  at  Ydsnaya  where,  in  spite  of 
repeated  visits  to  Moscow,  he  spent  most  of  the  summer. 
There  was  at  this  time  no  railway  from  Moscow  southward 
to  Toula;  and  the  serfs'  belief  concerning  the  new  tele- 
graph posts  which  stood  by  the  side  of  the  highroad,  was 
that  when  the  wire  had  been  completed,  '  Freedom '  would 
be  sent  along  it  from  Petersburg.  Even  Tatiana  Alexan- 
drovna  Ergolsky  did  not  understand  these  new-fangled 
things,  and,  when  driving  along  the  road  one  day,  asked 
Tolstoy  to  explain  how  letters  were  written  by  telegraph. 
He  told  her  as  simply  as  he  could  how  the  telegraphic 
apparatus  works,  and  received  the  reply  :  '  Owi,  oui,Je  com- 
prendSy  mon  cher  ! '  How  much  she  had  really  understood 
was  however  shown  half  an  hour  later  when,  after  keeping 
her  eye  on  the  wire  all  that  time,  she  inquired  :  *  But  how 
is  it,  mon  cher  Leon^  that  during  a  whole  half-hour  I  have 
not  seen  a  single  letter  go  along  the  telegraph  ? ' 

Fet  and  his  wife  used  to  stay  a  day  or  two  at  Ydsnaya 
when  journeying  to  and  from  Moscow,  and  Fefs  account 
of  Aunt  Tatiana  accords  with  Tolstoy's  own  affectionate 
recollections  of  that  lady.  Fet  says  that  he  and  his  wife 
'  made  the  acquaintance  of  Tolstoy's  charming  old  aunt, 
Tatidna  Alexandrovna  Ergolsky,  who  received  us  with  that 
old-world  affability  which  puts  one  at  once  at  one's  ease 
on  entering  a  new  house.  She  did  not  devote  herself  to 
memories  of  times  long  past,  but  lived  fully  in  the  present.* 

Speaking  of  them  all  by  their  pet  names,  she  mentioned 
that  '  Serydzhenka  Tolstoy  had  gone  to  his  home  at  Piro- 
g6vo,  but  Nikolenka  would  probably  stay  a  bit  longer  in 
Moscow  with  Mdshenka,  but  Lydvotchka's  friend  Dydkof 
had  recently  visited  them,'  and  so  on. 

Many  years  later,  Tolstoy  jotted  down  his  memories  of 
the   long  autumn  and  winter  evenings  spent  with  Aunt 


ABROAD  177 

Tatiana  to  which,  he  says,  he  owed  his  best  thoughts  and 
impulses.  He  would  sit  in  his  arm-chair  reading,  thinking, 
and  occasionally  listening  to  her  kindly  and  gentle  con- 
versation with  two  of  the  servants  :  Natalya  Petrdvna  (an 
old  woman  who  lived  there  not  because  she  was  of  much 
use,  but  because  she  had  nowhere  else  to  live)  and  a  maid 
Dounetchka. 

The  chief  charm  of  that  life  lay  in  the  absence  of  any 
material  care  ;  in  good  relations  with  those  nearest — relations  no 
one  could  spoil ;  and  in  the  leisureliness  and  the  unconscious- 
ness of  flying  time.  .  .  . 

When,  after  hving  badly  at  a  neighbour's  in  Toi'ila,  with  cai'ds, 
gipsies,  hunting,  and  stupid  vanity,  I  used  to  return  home>  and 
come  to  her,  by  old  habit  we  would  kiss  each  other's  hand, 
I  her  dear  energetic  hand,  and  she  my  dirty,  vicious  hand  ;  and 
also  by  old  habit,  we  greeted  one  another  in  French,  and  I 
would  joke  with  Natalya  Petrovna,  and  would  sit  down  in  the 
comfortable  arm-chair.  She  knew  well  all  I  had  been  doing 
and  regretted  it,  but  never  reproached  me,  retaining  always  the 
same  gentleness  and  love.  ...  I  was  once  telling  her  how  some 
one's  wife  had  gone  away  with  another  man,  and  I  said  the 
husband  ought  to  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  her.  And  suddenly  my 
aunt  lifted  her  eyebrows  and  said,  as  a  thing  long  decided  in 
her  mind,  that  that  would  be  wrong  of  the  husband,  because  it 
would  completely  ruin  the  wife.  After  that  she  told  me  of  a 
drama  that  had  occurred  among  the  serfs.  Then  she  re-read  a 
letter  from  my  sister  Mashenka,  whom  she  loved  if  not  more, 
at  least  as  much  as  she  loved  me,  and  she  spoke  of  Masha's 
husband  (her  own  nephew)  not  to  condemn  him,  but  with  grief 
for  the  sorrow  he  inflicted  on  Mashenka.  .  .  .  The  chief  char- 
acteristic of  her  life,  which  involuntarily  infected  me,  was  her 
wonderful,  general  kindliness  to  every  one  without  exception. 
I  try  to  recall  a  single  instance  of  her  being  angry,  or  speaking 
a  sharp  word,  or  condemning  any  one,  and  I  cannot  recall  one 
such  instance  in  the  course  of  thirty  years.  She  spoke  well 
of  our  real  aunt,  who  had  bitterly  hurt  her  by  taking  us  away 
from  her.  ...  As  to  her  kindly  treatment  of  the  servants — 

M 


178  LEO  TOLSTOY 

that  goes  without  saying.  She  had  grown  up  in  the  idea  that 
there  are  masters  and  servants,  but  she  utilised  her  authority 
only  to  serve  them.  .  .  .  She  never  blamed  me  directly  for  my 
evil  life^  though  she  suffered  on  my  account.  My  brother 
Sergey,  too,  whom  also  she  loved  warmly,  she  did  not  reproach 
even  when  he  took  a  gipsy  girl  to  live  with  him.  The  only 
shade  of  disquietude  she  showed  on  our  account  was  that,  when 
he  was  very  late  in  returning  home,  she  would  say :  '  What  has 
become  of  our  Sergius  .'' '  Only  Sergius  instead  of  Seryozha.  .  .  . 
She  never  told  us  in  words  how  to  live,  never  preached  to  us. 
All  her  moral  work  was  done  internally ;  externally  one  only 
saw  her  deeds — and  not  even  deeds :  there  were  no  deeds ;  but 
all  her  life,  peaceful,  sweet,  submissive  and  loving,  not  troubled 
or  self-satisfied,  but  a  life  of  quiet,  unobtrusive  love.  .  .  .  Her 
affectionateness  and  tranquillity  made  her  society  noticeably 
attractive  and  gave  a  special  charm  to  intimacy  with  her.  I 
know  of  no  case  where  she  offended  any  one,  and  of  no  one  who 
did  not  love  her.  She  never  spoke  of  herself,  never  of  religion 
or  of  what  we  ought  to  believe,  or  of  how  she  believed  or 
prayed.  She  believed  everything,  except  that  she  rejected  one 
dogma — that  of  eternal  torment.  '  Dieu,  qui  est  la  bonte  memc, 
ne  pent  pas  vouloir  nos  souffrances.'  ^.  .  .  She  often  called  me  by 
my  father's  name  (Nicholas)  and  this  pleased  me  very  much, 
because  it  showed  that  her  conceptions  of  me  and  of  ray  father 
mingled  in  her  love  of  us  both. 

It  was  not  her  love  for  me  alone  that  was  joyous.  What  was 
joyous  was  the  atmosphere  of  love  to  all  who  were  present  or 
absent,  alive  or  dead,  and  even  to  animals.  .  .  , 

After  telling  of  her  goodness  and  her  afFection  Tolstoy 
says  in  his  Memoirs  that,  though  he  appreciated  his  happi- 
ness with  her,  he  did  not  at  the  time  nearly  realise  its  full 
value  ;  and  he  adds  : 

She  was  fond  of  keeping  sweets :  figs,  gingerbreads  and  dates, 
in  various  jars  in  her  room.  I  cannot  forget,  nor  remember 
without  a  cruel  pang  of  remorse,  that  I  repeatedly  refused  her 
money  she  wanted  for  such  things  and  how  she,  sighing  sadly, 

*  God,  who  is  goodness  itself,  cannot  desire  our  pain. 


ABROAD  179 

remained  silent.     It  is  true  I  was  in  need  of  money,  but  I 
cannot  now  remember  without  horror  that  I  refused  her. 

Again  in  another  place,  after  mentioning  her  self-devo- 
tion, he  says  : 

And  it  was  to  her,  to  her,  that  I  refused  the  small  pleasure 
of  having  figs  and  chocolate  (and  not  so  much  for  herself  as  to 
treat  me)  and  of  being  able  to  give  a  trifle  to  those  who  begged 
of  her.  .  .  .  Dear,  dear  Aunty,  forgive  me !  Sijeunesse  savait, 
si  vieillesse  pouvait  [if  youth  but  knew,  if  age  but  could],  I  mean 
not  in  the  sense  of  the  good  lost  for  oneself  in  youth,  but  in  the 
sense  of  the  good  not  given  and  the  evil  done  to  those  who  are 
no  more. 

Of  Leo's  life  at  Yasnaya  at  this  time,  his  brother 
Nicholas  gave  Fet  the  following  humorous  account : 

Lyovotchka  is  zealously  trying  to  become  acquainted  with 
peasant  life  and  with  farming,  of  both  of  which,  like  the  rest  of 
us,  he  has  till  now  had  but  a  superficial  knowledge.  But  I  am 
not  sure  what  sort  of  acquaintance  will  result  from  his  efforts : 
Lyovotchka  wants  to  get  hold  of  everything  at  once,  without 
omitting  anything — even  his  gymnastics.  So  he  has  rigged 
up  a  bar  under  his  study  window.  And  of  course,  apart  from 
prejudice,  with  which  he  wages  such  fierce  war,  he  is  right : 
gymnastics  do  not  interfere  with  farming  ;  but  the  steward  sees 
things  differently  and  says,  *  One  comes  to  the  master  for  orders, 
and  he  hangs  head  downward  in  a  red  jacket,  holding  on  by 
one  knee  to  a  perch,  and  swings  himself.  His  hair  hangs  down 
and  blows  about,  the  blood  comes  to  his  face,  and  one  does  not 
know  whether  to  listen  to  his  orders  or  to  be  astonished  at  him !' 

Lyovotchka  is  delighted  with  the  way  the  serf  Ufan  sticks 
out  his  arms  when  ploughing ;  and  so  Ufan  has  become  for  him 
an  emblem  of  village  strength,  like  the  legendary  Michael ;  and 
he  himself,  sticking  his  elbows  out  wide,  takes  to  the  plough 
and  '  Ufanizes.' 

In  May  1858  Tolstoy  wrote  to  Fet: 

Dearest  little  Uncle  [as  we  might  say.  Dear  old  Boy] ! — 
I  write  two  words  merely  to  say  that  I  embrace  you  with  all  my 


180  LEO  TOLSTOY 

might,  have  received  your  letter^  kiss  the  hand  of  Marya  Pet- 
rovna  [Fet's  wife]  and  make  obeisance  to  you  all.  Aunty  thanks 
you  very  much  for  your  message  and  bows  to  you,  so  also  does 
my  sister.  What  a  wonderful  spring  it  has  been  and  is  !  I,  in 
solitude,  have  tasted  it  admirably.  Brother  Nicholas  must  be 
at  Nikolsk.  Catch  him  and  do  not  let  him  go.  I  want  to  come 
to  see  you  this  month.  Tourgenef  has  gone  to  Winzig  till 
August  to  cure  his  bladder. 

Devil  take  him.  I  am  tired  of  loving  him.  He  deserts  us, 
and  won't  cure  his  bladder. 

Now  good-bye,  dear  friend.  If  you  have  no  poem  ready 
for  me  by  the  time  I  come,  I  shall  proceed  to  squeeze  one 
out  of  you. — Your  Count  L.  Tolstoy. 

Another  letter  to  Fet  runs : 

Ay,  old  fellow,  ahoy !  First,  you  give  no  sign,  though  it  is 
spring  and  you  know  we  are  all  thinking  of  you,  and  that  I, 
like  Prometheus,  am  bound  to  a  rock,  yet  thirst  for  sight  or 
sound  of  you.  You  should  either  come,  or  at  least  send  us  a 
proper  invitation.  Secondly,  you  have  retained  my  brother, 
and  a  very  good  brother,  surnamed  '  Firdusi '  [an  allusion  to 
Nicholas's  Oriental  wisdom].  The  chief  culprit  in  this  matter, 
I  suspect,  is  Marya  Petrovna,  to  whom  I  humbly  bow,  request- 
ing her  to  return  us  our  own  brother.  Jesting  apart,  he  bids 
me  let  you  know  that  he  will  be  here  next  week.  Drouzhinin 
will  also  come,  so  mind  you  come  too,  old  fellow. 

The  first  record  of  any  participation  by  Tolstoy  in 
political  affairs  relates  to  the  preparations  for  the  Emanci- 
pation of  the  serfs.  Immediately  after  the  conclusion  of 
the  Crimean  war  Alexander  II,  addressing  the  Marshals 
of  the  Nobility,  in  Moscow,  had  said :  '  The  existing 
manner  of  possessing  serfs  cannot  remain  unchanged.  It 
is  better  to  abolish  serfdom  from  above  than  to  await  the 
time  when  it  will  begin  to  abolish  itself  from  below,  I 
request  you,  gentlemen,  to  consider  how  this  can  be  done, 
and  to  submit  my  words  to  the  Nobility  for  their  con- 
sideration.'      Some   time  passed  without  any  definite  re- 


ABROAD  181 

sponse  to  this  appeal,  and  meanwhile  the  Polish  nobility 
of  the  Lithuanian  Provinces,  dissatisfied  with  certain  regu- 
lations enacted  in  the  previous  reign,  incautiously  asked  to 
have  them  revised.  The  Government  grasped  the  oppor- 
tunity, and  treating  this  as  the  expression  of  a  wish  for 
Emancipation,  replied  that  '  the  abolition  of  serfdom  must 
be  effected  not  suddenly,  but  gradually,'  and  authorised 
the  Nobilitv  to  form  Committees  for  the  preparation  of 
definite  projects  to  that  end.  Four  days  later  the  Minister 
of  the  Interior,  acting  on  secret  orders  from  the  Emperor, 
sent  a  circular  to  all  the  Governors  and  Marshals  of  the 
Nobility  in  Russia  proper,  stating  that  the  Lithuanian 
nobles  '  had  recognised  the  necessity  of  liberating  the 
peasants,'  and  that  '  this  noble  intention '  had  afforded 
peculiar  satisfaction  to  His  Majesty,  and  explaining  the 
principles  to  be  observed  in  case  the  nobles  of  other 
Provinces  should  express  a  similar  desire.  A  few  weeks 
later  the  Emperor  publicly  expressed  a  hope  that,  with  the 
co-operation  of  his  nobles,  the  work  of  Emancipation 
would  be  successfully  accomplished.  It  therefore  became 
quite  evident  that,  whether  the  nobles  liked  it  or  not, 
Emancipation  was  at  hand ;  since  the  Emperor  had,  at 
last,  definitely  ranged  himself  on  the  side  of  the  Emancipa- 
tionists. By  accepting  the  invitation  to  co-operate  in  the 
preparation  of  the  scheme,  there  appeared  to  be  a  chance 
that  the  nobles  might  so  shape  the  measure  that  their 
interests  would  not  suffer;  and  consequently,  during  1858, 
a  Committee  was  chosen  in  almost  every  Province  of  Central 
Russia.  Among  the  rest  a  Meeting  of  the  Nobility  of  the 
Government  of  Toula  was  fixed  for  the  first  of  September,  to 
elect  Deputies  to  the  Committee  for  the  Improvement  of  the 
Condition  of  the  Peasants.  Tolstoy  attended  this  meeting, 
and  together  with  one  hundred  and  four  fellow-nobles  signed 
a  document  stating  that '  with  the  object  of  improving  the 
condition  of  the  peasants,  preserving  the  property  of  the 
landowners,  and  securing  the  safety  of  both  the  one  and 


182  LEO  TOLSTOY 

the  other,  we  consider  it  necessary  that  the  peasants  should 
be  liberated  not  otherwise  than  with  an  allotment  of  a 
certain  amount  of  land  in  hereditary  possession,  and  that 
the  landowners  should  receive  for  the  land  they  give  up, 
full,  equitable,  pecuniary  recompense  by  means  of  such 
financial  measures  as  will  not  entail  any  obligatory  re- 
lations between  peasants  and  proprietors, — relations  which 
the  Nobility  consider  it  necessary  to  terminate.' 

There  is  no  indication  that  Tolstoy  took  any  prominent 
part  in  this  meeting ;  and  the  resolution  just  quoted,  while 
approving  of  Emancipation,  seems  to  attach  at  least  equal 
importance  to  securing  full  compensation  for  the  land- 
owners. Explain  it  how  one  may,  the  fact  remains  that 
while  the  Contemporary,  and  all  that  was  progressive  in 
Russian  literature,  was  preoccupied  with  the  effort  to  help 
to  shape  the  reforms  so  that  they  might  really  attain  the 
ends  aimed  at,  Tolstoy  almost  retired  from  the  scene,  and 
hardly  appeared  aware  of  the  movement  going  on  around 
him.  The  battle  for  freedom  was  fought  in  the  press  by 
Tchernyshevsky,  Koshelef,  and  N.  Samdrin,  by  Herzen,  and 
by  many  others,  including  Nekrasof  and  Saltykdf;  and 
Tolstoy's  indifference  helps  to  explain  the  fact,  already 
alluded  to,  that  during  these  years  the  critics  ignored 
him,  though  his  artistic  power  continued  to  increase.  His 
friend  Fet  also  took  no  part  in  the  Emancipation  move- 
ment ;  being  in  fact  rather  opposed  to  it. 

On  24th  October  1858  Tolstoy  writes  to  Fet : 

To  write  stories  is  stupid  and  shameful.  To  write  verses — 
well,  write  them  ;  but  to  love  a  good  man  is  very  pleasant. 
Yet  perhaps,  against  my  will  and  intention,  not  I,  but  an 
unripe  story  inside  me,  compels  me  to  love  you.  It  sometimes 
seems  like  that.  Do  what  one  will  amid  the  manure  and  the 
mange,  one  somehow  begins  to  compose.  Thank  heaven,  I 
have  not  yet  allowed  myself  to  write,  and  will  not  do  so.  .  .  . 
Thank  you  exceedingly  for  your  trouble  about  a  veterinary.  I 
have  found  one  in  Toiila  and  have  begun  the  cure,  but  I  do 


ABROAD  183 

not  know  what  will  come  of  it. — And,  may  the  devil  take  them 
all, — Drouzhinin  is  appealing  to  me  as  a  matter  of  friendship 
to  write  a  story.  I  really  want  to.  I  will  spin  such  a  yarn 
that  there  will  be  no  head  or  tail  to  it.  .  .  .  But  joking  apart, 
how  is  your  Hafiz  getting  on?  [Fet  was  translating  some 
poems  by  Hafiz.]  Turn  it  which  way  you  will,  the  height  of 
wisdom  and  fortitude  for  me  is  to  enjoy  the  poetry  of  others, 
and  not  to  let  my  own  in  ugly  garb  loose  among  men,  but  to 
consume  it  myself  with  my  daily  bread.  But  at  times  one 
suddenly  wishes  to  be  a  great  man,  and  it  is  so  annoying  that 
this  has  not  yet  come  about !  One  even  hurries  to  get  up 
quicker  or  to  finish  dinner  in  order  to  begin.  .  .  .  Send  me  a 
poem,  the  healthiest  of  those  you  have  translated  from  Hafiz, 
me  faire  venir  I'eau  a  la  houche}  and  I  will  send  you  a  sample  of 
wheat.  Hunting  has  bored  me  to  death.  The  weather  is 
excellent,  but  I  do  not  hunt  alone. 

In  company,  Tolstoy  was  however  a  keen  sportsman, 
and  in  December  1858  nearly  lost  his  life  while  out 
bear-shooting.  He  has  told  the  story,  with  some  em- 
bellishments, in  one  of  the  tales  for  children  contained 
in  the  volume.  Twenty-three  Tales}  The  real  facts  were 
these  : 

Tolstoy  and  his  brother  Nicholas  had  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  S.  S.  Gromeka,  a  well-known  publicist  who  shared 
their  fondness  for  hunting — a  sport  very  different  in  Russia 
from  what  it  is  in  England,  as  readers  of  Tolstoy's  descrip- 
tions well  know. 

Gromeka  having  heard  that  a  she-bear  with  two  young 
ones  had  her  lair  in  the  forest  near  the  railway  at  Volo- 
tchdk,  half-way  between  Petersburg  and  Moscow,  arranged 
matters  with  the  peasants  of  that  locality,  and  invited  the 
Tolstoys  and  other  guests  to  a  hunt.  The  invitation  was 
accepted,  and  on  21st  December  Leo  Tolstoy  shot  a  bear. 
On  22  nd  the  members  of  the  party,  each  armed  with  two 
guns,  were  placed  at  the  ends  of  cuttings  running  through 

^  To  make  my  mouth  water. 

'  Included  in  the  World's  Classus. 


184  LEO  TOLSTOY 

the  forest  in  which  the  big  she-bear  had  been  surrounded. 
These  paths  or  cuttings  divided  the  wood  like  the  lines 
of  a  chess-board.  Peasants  employed  as  beaters  were 
stationed  to  prevent  the  animal  escaping  except  by 
approaching  one  or  other  of  the  sportsmen.  Ostashkof,  a 
famous  professional  huntsman,  supervised  the  proceedings. 
The  guests  were  advised  to  stamp  down  the  snow  around 
them,  so  as  to  give  themselves  room  to  move  freely ;  but 
Tolstoy  (with  his  usual  objection  to  routine  methods) 
argued  that  as  they  were  out  to  shoot  the  bear  and  not 
to  box  with  her,  it  was  useless  to  tread  down  the  snow. 
He  therefore  stood  with  his  two-barrelled  gun  in  his  hand, 
surrounded  by  snow  almost  up  to  his  waist. 

Tile  bear,  roused  by  the  shouts  of  Ostashkof,  rushed 
down  a  cutting  directly  towards  one  of  the  other  sports- 
men ;  but,  perceiving  him,  she  suddenly  swerved  from  her 
course  and  took  a  cross  path  which  brought  her  out  on  to 
the  cutting  leading  straight  to  Tolstoy.  He,  not  ex- 
pecting her  visit,  did  not  fire  until  the  beast  was  within 
six  yards,  and  his  first  shot  missed.  The  bear  was  only 
two  yards  from  him  when  his  second  shot  hit  her  in  the 
mouth.  It  failed  to  stop  her  rush,  and  she  knocked 
Tolstoy  over  on  to  his  back  in  the  snow.  Carried  past 
him  at  first  by  her  own  impetus,  the  bear  soon  returned  ; 
and  the  next  thing  Tolstoy  knew  was  that  he  was 
being  weighed  down  by  something  heavy  and  warm,  and 
he  then  felt  that  his  face  was  being  drawn  into  the 
beast's  mouth.  He  could  only  offer  a  passive  resistance, 
by  drawing  down  his  head  as  much  as  possible  between 
his  shoulders  and  trying  to  present  his  cap  instead  of  his 
face  to  the  bear's  teeth.  This  state  of  things  lasted  only 
a  few  seconds,  yet  long  enough  for  the  bear,  after  one 
or  two  misses,  to  get  her  teeth  into  the  flesh  above 
and  below  his  left  eye.  At  this  moment  Ostdshkof, 
armed  with  a  small  switch,  came  running  up,  shouting  : 
'  Where  are   you  getting  to  ?       Where   are  you  getting 


ABROAD  185 

to?'  At  which  the  beast  promptly  took  fright,  and 
rushed  off.  Next  day  she  was  followed  up  and  killed. 
Owing  to  the  amount  of  blood  and  torn  flesh,  Tolstoy's 
wound  at  first  appeared  serious ;  but  when  it  had  been 
washed  with  snow,  and  he  had  been  taken  to  the  nearest 
town  and  had  had  it  sewn  up,  it  turned  out  to  be  super- 
ficial. He  long  retained  a  very  noticeable  scar  however  as 
a  memento  of  the  encounter ;  and  the  bear''s  skin  may  still 
be  seen  at  Ydsnaya, 

Family  Happiiiess,  written  partly  in  1858,  was  published 
early  in  1859.  It  grew  out  of  the  unsuccessful  love  affair 
mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  and  is  Tolstoy's  imaginative 
description  of  what  might  have  been. 

The  first  months  of  1859  he  spent  in  Moscow,  and  here 
on  the  occasion  of  joining  the  Moscow  Society  of  Lovers 
of  Russian  Literature,  on  4th  February,  he  for  the 
first  time  made  a  public  speech :  a  task  for  which, 
he  once  told  me,  he  had  no  aptitude,  and  which  he  much 
disliked.  He  wrote  it  out,  and  it  was  to  have  appeared  in 
the  Proceedings  of  the  Society,  but  for  some  reason  never 
got  printed.  Its  subject  was  *  The  Supremacy  of  the 
Artistic  Element  in  Literature,'  and  in  it  he  maintained 
a  position  almost  the  opposite  of  the  one  he  advocated  so 
ardently  and  with  such  full  conviction  in  What  is  Art  F 
forty  years  later. 

He  was  answered  by  the  Slavophil  A.  S.  Homyakdf, 
who  presided  at  the  meeting,  and  who  in  the  course  of 
his  remarks  said  : 

Allow  me  to  remark  that  the  justice  of  the  opinion  you  have 
so  skilfully  stated  is  far  from  destroying  the  legitimacy  of  the 
temporary  and  exceptional  side  of  literature.  That  which  is 
always  right,  that  which  is  always  beautiful,  that  which  is  as 
unalterable  as  the  most  fundamental  laws  of  the  soul,  un- 
doubtedly holds,  and  should  hold,  the  first  place  in  the  thoughts, 
the  impulses,  and  therefore  in  the  speech  of  man.  It,  and  it 
alone,  will  be  handed  on  by  generation  to  generation  and  by 


186  LEO  TOLSTOY 

nation  to  nation  as  a  precious  inheritance.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  in  the  nature  of  man  and  of  society  there  is  continual 
need  for  self-indictment.  There  are  moments,  moments  im- 
portant in  history,  when  that  self-indictment  acquires  a  special 
and  indefeasible  right,  and  manifests  itself  in  literature  with 
great  definiteness  and  keenness.  .  .  . 

The  rights  of  literature  the  servant  of  eternal  beauty,  do  not 
destroy  the  rights  of  the  literature  of  indictment,  which  always 
accompanies  social  deficiencies  and  sometimes  appears  as  the 
healer  of  social  evils.  .  .  . 

Of  course.  Art  is  perfectly  free:  it  finds  its  justification  and 
its  aim  in  itself.  But  the  freedom  of  Art  in  the  abstract,  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  inner  life  of  the  artist.  An  artist  is 
not  a  theory — a  sphere  of  thought  and  mental  activity — but  a 
man,  and  always  a  man  of  his  own  times,  usually  its  best 
representative,  completely  imbued  with  its  spirit  and  its  defined 
or  nascent  aspirations.  By  the  very  impressionability  of  his 
nature,  without  which  he  could  not  be  an  artist,  he,  even  more 
than  others,  receives  all  the  painful  as  well  as  joyous  sensations 
of  the  society  to  which  he  is  born.  .  .  . 

So  the  writer,  a  servant  of  pure  art,  sometimes  becomes  an 
accuser  even  unconsciously,  and  despite  his  own  will.  I  allow 
myself,  Count,  to  cite  you  as  an  example.  You  consciously 
follow  a  definite  road  faithfully  and  undeviatingly ;  but  are  you 
really  completely  alien  to  the  literature  of  indictment .''  Were 
it  but  in  the  picture  of  a  consumptive  post-boy,  dying  on  top 
of  a  stove  amid  a  crowd  of  comrades  apparently  indifferent  to 
his  sufferings  [this  refers  to  Three  Deaths]  have  you  not  indi- 
cated some  social  disease,  some  evil  ?  When  describing  that 
death,  is  it  possible  that  you  did  not  suffer  from  the  horny 
indifference  of  good  but  unawakened  human  souls .''  Yes,  you 
too  have  been  and  will  be  an  involuntary  indieter ! 

This  question  of  the  true  position  of  literary  art  and 
its  relation  to  the  rest  of  life,  was  one  which  occupied 
Tolstoy  for  many  years,  and  on  which  before  the  century 
closed  he  expressed  himself  in  a  book  which  must  be 
reckoned  with  by  all  who  may  hereafter  deal  with  the  sub- 
ject.    The  attitude  he  maintained  at  the  time  he  entered 


ABROAD  187 

the  Society  of  Lovei's  of  Russian  Literature,  was  in  striking 
contrast  with  that  of  the  Slavophils,  such  as  Honiyakdf, 
and  of  the  great  majority  of  the  leading  Russian  writers 
of  that  day,  who  were  fired  with  the  hope  of  Emancipation, 
just  as  in  America  at  the  same  time,  Lowell,  Emerson, 
Whittier,  Thoreau,  Walt  Whitman,  Longfellow,  Channing, 
Lloyd  Garrison,  and  others,  were  stirred  by  the  Anti- 
Slavery  movement. 

In  April  Tolstoy  went  to  Petersburg  and  spent  ten 
days  very  pleasantly  with  his  aunt  the  Countess  A.  A. 
Tolstoy.  By  the  end  of  the  month  he  was  back  at  Yasnaya. 
In  July,  Tourgenef,  from  France,  wrote  Fet  a  long  letter  in 
blank  verse,  a  few  lines  of  which  indicate  the  relation  between 
Leo  Tolstoy  and  himself  at  this  time : 

'  Kiss  Nicholas  Tolstoy  on  my  behalf 
And  to  his  brother  Leo  make  my  bow, 
— As  to  his  sister  also. 
He  rightly  says  in  his  postscriptum  : 
"  There  is  no  cause  "  for  me  to  write  to  him, 
Indeed,  I  know  he  bears  me  little  love 
And  I  love  him  as  little.     Too  differently 
Are  mixed  those  elements  of  which  we  Ve  formed.' 

During  this  winter  Tolstoy  devoted  much  time  to  an 
attempt  to  organise  schools  on  and  near  his  estate.  The 
education  of  its  peasant  children  was  one  of  the  1359- 
things  Russia  most  needed,  and  most  terribly  I860 
neglected.  Tolstoy  recognised  this,  and  set  himself  strenu- 
ously and  eagerly  to  show  how  the  great  need  could  be  met. 
The  work  he  did  at  this  time  was,  however,  only  prelimi- 
nary to  what  he  undertook  after  his  next  visit  to  Western 
Europe,  and  he  was  far  from  being  mentally  at  peace.  At 
the  commencement  of  the  New  Year  he  noted  in  his  Diary  : 
*  The  burden  of  the  estate,  the  burden  of  bachelor  life,  and 
all  sorts  of  doubts  and  pessimistic  feelings  agitate  my 
mind.' 


188  LEO  TOLSTOY 

One  mention  of  the  serfs  (who  were  now  nearing  free- 
dom) occurs  in  a  letter  Tolstoy  wrote  to  Fet  on  23rd 
February  1860,  in  reply  to  a  note  in  which  the  latter  had 
expressed  a  wish  to  buy  an  estate,  settle  down  in  the 
country,  and  devote  himself  to  farming.  Tolstoy  replies  that 
there  is  an  estate  for  sale  adjoining  his  own,  containing : 

Four  hundred  desyatins  of  good  land  with,  unfortunately, 
seventy  souls  of  bad  serfs.  But  that  does  not  matter;  they 
will  gladly  pay  quit-rent  [in  lieu  of  personal  service]  as  mine 
do,  at  the  rate  of  Rs.  30  a  tyaglo  [man  and  wife  with  an  allot- 
ment of  land]  or  Rs.  660  for  the  twenty-two  tyaglos,  and  you 
will  get  not  less  than  that,  if  not  more,  at  the  Emancipation, 
and  will  have  sufficient  unexhausted  land  and  meadow  left 
to  yield  about  Rs,  2000  a  year,  or  over  Rs.  2600  in  all.  The 
price  asked  for  the  estate  is  Rs.  21',000,  besides  a  mortgage 
of  about  Rs.  5000.  ...  At  any  rate  it  would  be  a  good  bargain 
to  buy  it  for  Rs.  20,000.  .  .  .  The  seller  is  an  old  man  who  is 
ruined,  and  wants  to  sell  it  quickly  in  order  to  get  rid  of  his 
son-in-law.  He  has  twice  sent  to  offer  it  me.  The  above 
calculation  shows  what  the  estate  should  yield  in  a  couple  of 
years'  time  if  about  Rs.  5000  be  spent  on  improving  it ;  but 
even  in  its  present  condition  one  can  answer  for  a  return  of 
Rs.  1500,  which  is  more  than  7  per  cent,  on  the  cost. 

In  Russia  to  buy  serfs  was  not  then  considered  more  dis- 
creditable than  it  is  in  England  to-day  to  buy  shares  in  a 
china  or  match  factory ;  and  in  the  same  letter  Tolstoy 
goes  on  to  discuss  literature : 

I  have  read  Tourgenef  s  On  the  Eve.  This  is  my  opinion : 
to  write  novels  is  undesirable,  especially  for  people  who  are 
depressed  and  do  not  well  know  what  they  want  from  life. 
However,  On  the  Eve  is  much  better  than  A  Nest  of  Gentlefolk, 
and  there  are  in  it  excellent  negative  characters :  the  artist  and 
the  father.  The  rest  are  not  types ;  even  their  conception, 
their  position,  is  not  typical,  or  they  are  quite  insignificant. 
That  however  is  always  Tourgenef's  mistake.  The  girl  is  hope- 
lessly bad :  '  Ah,  how  I  love  thee  .  .  .  her  eyelashes  were  long.' 


ABUOAD  189 

In  general  it  always  surprises  me  that  Tourgenef,  with  his 
mental  powers  and  poetic  sensibility^  should  even  in  his 
tnetliods  not  be  able  to  refrain  from  banality.  This  banality 
shows  itself  most  of  all  in  his  negative  methods,  which  recall 
Gogol.  There  is  no  humanity  or  sympathy  for  the  characters, 
but  the  author  exhibits  monsters  whom  he  scolds  and  does  not 
pity.  This  jars  painfully  with  the  tone  and  intention  of 
Liberalism  in  everything  else.  It  was  all  very  well  in  the  days 
of  Tsar  Goroh  [a  character  in  a  fairy  story]  or  of  Gogol  (though 
if  one  does  not  pity  even  the  most  insignificant  of  one's  charac- 
ters, one  should  scold  them  so  that  the  heavens  grow  hot,  or 
laugh  at  them  so  that  one's  sides  split,  and  not  as  our  splenetic 
and  dyspeptic  Tourgenef  does).  On  the  whole,  however,  there 
is  now  no  one  else  who  could  write  such  a  novel,  though  it  will 
not  meet  with  success. 

Ostrovsky's  The  Storm  is, in  my  opinion,  a  wretched  work,  but 
will  be  successful.  Not  OstrcWsky  and  Tourgenef  are  to  blame, 
but  the  times.  .  .  .  Something  else  is  now  needed :  not  that 
we  should  learn  and  criticise,  but  that  we  should  teach  Jack 
and  Jill  at  least  a  little  of  what  we  know. 

This  letter  to  Fet,  who  was  in  Moscow,  ends  with  re- 
quests to  procure  some  books,  including  a  veterinary  hand- 
book, a  veterinary  instrument,  and  a  lancet  for  use  on 
human  beings  ;  to  see  about  procuring  six  ploughs  of  a 
special  make,  and  to  find  out  the  price  of  clover  and 
timothy-grass,  of  which  Tolstoy  had  some  to  sell. 

At  this  time  Tolstoy  worked  at  his  story  The  Cossacks, 
the  plan  of  which  he  had  sketched   out  in  1852, 
but  which  he  did  not  complete  till  1862. 

One  comes  across  notes  in  his  Diary  which  indicate  his 
state  of  mind  at  this  period  with  regard  to  religion.  After 
reading  a  book  on  Materialism  he  notes : 

I  thought  of  prayer.  To  what  can  one  pray  ?  What  is  God, 
imagined  so  clearly  that  one  can  ask  him  to  communicate  with 
us?  If  I  imagine  such  an  one,  he  loses  all  grandeur  for  me. 
A  God  whom  one  can  beseech  and  whom  one  can  serve — is  the 


) 


190  LEO  TOLSTOY 

expression  of  mental  weakness.  He  is  God,  because  I  cannot 
grasp  his  being.  Indeed,  he  is  not  a  Beings  but  a  Law  and 
a  Force. 

He  was  a  great  puzzle  to  his  friends  and  acquaintances 
— always  ready  to  take  his  own  line  strenuously,  yet  some- 
times far  from  sure  what  that  line  was.  Tourgenef  wrote 
to  Fet : 

Leo  Tolstoy  continues  his  eccentricities.  Evidently  it  was  so 
decreed  at  his  birth.  When  will  he  turn  his  last  somersault  and 
stand  on  his  feet  ? 

The  fact  that  Tolstoy,  like  his  friend  Fet,  was  neglecting 
literature  did  not  fail  to  call  forth  many  remonstrances, 
one  of  the  most  urgent  of  which  came  to  him  from  Drouz- 
hinin,  who  wrote : 

Every  writer  has  his  moments  of  doubt  and  self-dissatis- 
faction, and  however  strong  and  legitimate  this  feeling  may  be, 
no  one  on  that  account  has  yet  ceased  his  connection  with 
literature ;  every  one  goes  on  writing  to  the  end.  But  all 
tendencies,  good  or  bad,  cling  to  you  with  peculiar  obstinacy ; 
so  that  you,  more  than  others,  need  to  think  of  this  and  to  con- 
sider the  whole  matter  amicably. 

First  of  all,  remember  that  after  poetry  and  mental  labour 
all  other  work  seems  worthless.  Qui  a  hu,  boira ;  and  at  the 
age  of  thirty  to  tear  oneself  away  from  authorship  means  losing 
half  the  interest  of  life.  But  that  is  only  half  the  matter; 
there  is  something  still  more  important. 

On  all  of  us  lies  a  responsibility  rooted  in  the  immense 
importance  of  literature  to  Russian  society.  An  Englishman  or 
an  American  may  laugh  at  the  fact  that  in  Russia  not  merely 
men  of  thirty,  but  grey-haired  owners  of  2000  serfs  sweat 
over  stories  of  a  hundred  pages,  which  ajipear  in  the  magazines, 
are  devoured  by  everybody,  and  arouse  discussion  in  society 
for  a  whole  day.  However  much  artistic  quality  may  have  to 
do  with  this  result,  you  cannot  explain  it  merely  by  Art.  What 
in  other  lands  is  a  matter  of  idle  talk  and  careless  dilettantism, 
with  us  is  quite  another  affair.     Among  us  things  have  taken 


ABROAD  191 

such  shape  that  a  story — the  most  frivolous  and  insignificant 
form  of  literature — becomes  one  of  two  things  :  either  it  is 
rubbish,  or  else  it  is  the  voice  of  a  leader  sounding  throughout 
the  Empire.  For  instance,  we  all  know  Tourgenef's  weakness, 
but  a  whole  ocean  divides  the  most  insignificant  of  his  stories 
from  the  very  best  of  Mrs.  Eugene  Tour's,  with  her  half-talent. 
By  some  strange  instinct  the  Russian  public  has  chosen  from 
among  the  crowd  of  writers  four  or  five  bell-men  whom  it 
values  as  leaders,  refusing  to  listen  to  any  qualifications  or 
deductions.  You- -partly  by  talent,  partly  by  the  practical 
qualities  of  your  soul,  and  partly  owing  simply  to  a  concurrence 
of  fortunate  circumstances — have  stepped  into  this  favourable 
relation  with  the  public.  On  that  account  you  must  not  go 
away  and  hide,  but  must  work,  even  to  the  exhaustion  of  your 
strength  and  powers.  That  is  one  side  of  the  matter ;  but  here 
is  another.  You  are  a  member  of  a  literary  circle  that  is 
honourable  (as  far  as  may  be),  independent,  and  influential; 
and  which  for  ten  years,  amid  persecutions  and  misfortunes, 
and  notwithstanding  its  members'  vices,  has  firmly  upheld  the 
banner  of  all  that  is  Liberal  and  enlightened,  and  has  borne  all 
this  weight  of  abuse  without  committing  one  mean  action.  In 
spite  of  the  world's  coldness  and  ignorance  and  its  contempt 
for  literature,  this  circle  is  rewarded  with  honour  and  moral 
influence.  Of  course,  there  are  in  it  insignificant  and  even 
stupid  homunculi ;  but  even  they  play  a  part  in  the  general 
union,  and  have  not  been  useless.  In  that  circle  you  again, 
though  you  arrived  but  recently,  have  a  place  and  a  voice  such 
as  Ostrovsky  for  instance  does  not  possess,  though  he  has 
immense  talent  and  his  moral  tendency  is  as  worthy  as 
your  own.  Why  this  has  happened  it  would  take  too 
long  to  analyse,  nor  is  it  to  the  point.  If  you  tear  your- 
self off  from  the  circle  of  writers  and  become  inactive,  you 
will  be  dull,  and  will  deprive  yourself  of  an  important  role 
in  society.  .  .  . 

At  this  time  the  state  of  health  of  his  brother  Nicholas 
— who  (like  Demetrius)  had  consumptive  tendencies — began 
to  disturb  Leo  Tolstoy.  It  was  arranged  that  Nicholas 
should  go  to  Germany  for  a  cure.     The  following  letter 


192  LEO  TOLSTOY 

written  by  Leo  Tolstoy  to  Fet,  after  Nicholas  had  started, 
refers  to  this  and  other  matters : 

.  .  .  You  are  a  writer  and  remain  a  writer,  and  God  speed 
you.  But  that,  besides  this,  you  wish  to  find  a  spot  where  you 
can  dig  like  an  ant,  is  an  idea  which  has  come  to  you  and  which 
you  must  carry  out,  and  carry  out  better  than  I  have  done. 
You  must  do  it  because  you  are  both  a  good  man  and  one  who 
looks  at  life  healthily.  .  .  .  However,  it  is  not  for  me  now  to 
deal  out  to  you  approval  or  disapproval  with  an  air  of  authority. 
I  am  greatly  at  sixes  and  sevens  with  myself.  Farming  on  the 
scale  on  which  it  is  carried  out  on  my  estate,  crushes  me.  To 
'  Ufanize '  ^  is  a  thing  I  only  see  afar  off.  Family  affairs, 
Nicholas's  illness  (of  which  we  have  as  yet  no  news  from 
abroad)  and  my  sister's  departure  (she  leaves  me  in  three  days' 
time)  also  crush  and  occupy  me.  Bachelor  life,  i.e.  not  having 
a  wife,  and  the  thought  that  it  is  getting  too  late,  torments  me 
from  a  third  side.  In  general,  everything  is  now  out  of  tune 
with  me.  On  account  of  my  sister's  helplessness  and  my  wish 
to  see  Nicholas,  I  shall  at  any  rate  procure  a  foreign  passport 
to-morrow,  and  perhaps  I  shall  accompany  my  sister  abroad ; 
especially  if  we  do  not  receive  news,  or  receive  bad  news,  from 
Nicholas.  How  much  I  would  give  to  see  you  before  leaving, 
how  much  I  want  to  tell  you  and  to  hear  from  you ;  but  it  is 
now  hardly  possible.  Yet  if  this  letter  reaches  you  quickly, 
remember  that  we  leave  Yasnaya  on  Thursday  or  more  pro- 
bably on  Friday. 

Now  as  to  farming  :  The  price  they  ask  of  you  is  not  ex- 
orbitant, and  if  the  place  pleases  you,  you  should  buy  it. 
Only  why  do  3'^ou  want  so  much  land  .''  I  have  learned  by  three 
years'  experience  that  with  all  imaginable  diligence  it  is  impos- 
sible to  grow^  cereals  profitably  or  pleasantly  on  more  than  60  or 
70  desyatins  [I60  to  I90  acres]  that  is,  on  about  15  desyatins  in 
each  of  four  fields.  Only  in  that  way  can  one  escape  trembling 
for  every  omission  (for  then  one  ploughs  not  twice  but  three  or 
four  times)  and  for  every  hour  a  peasant  misses,  and  for  every 
extra  rouble-a-month  one  pays  him ;  for  one  can  bring  15  desy- 

^  To  work  like  a  peasant.     The  origin  of  this  word  is  given  on  p.  179. 


ABROAD  193 

atins  to  the  point  of  yielding  30  to  40  per  cent,  on  the 
fixed  and  working  capital ;  but  with  SO  or  100  desyatins  under 
plough  one  cannot  do  so.  Please  do  not  let  this  advice  slip 
past  your  ears  ;  it  is  not  idle  talk,  but  a  result  of  experience  I 
have  had  to  pay  for.  Any  one  who  tells  you  differently  is  either 
lying  or  ignorant.  More  than  that,  even  with  15  desyatins  an 
all-absorbing  industry  is  necessary.  But  then  one  can  gain 
a  reward — one  of  the  pleasantest  life  gives ;  whereas  with  90 
desyatins  one  has  to  labour  like  a  post-horse,  with  no  possibility 
of  success.  I  cannot  find  sufficient  words  to  scold  myself  for 
not  having  written  to  you  sooner — in  which  case  you  would 
surely  have  come  to  see  us.     Now  farewell. 

Things  meanwhile  were  not  going  very  well  with 
Nicholas,  who  wrote  from  Soden  in  Hesse-Nassau  : 

In  Soden  we  joined  Tourgenef,  who  is  alive  and  well — so 
well  that  he  himself  confesses  that  he  is  'quite'  well.  He  has 
found  some  German  girl  and  goes  into  ecstasies  about  her.  We 
(this  relates  to  our  dearest  Tourgenef)  play  chess  together,  but 
somehow  it  does  not  go  as  it  should  :  he  is  thinking  of  his 
German  girl,  and  I  of  my  cure.  ...  I  shall  probably  stay  in 
Soden  for  at  least  six  wxeks.  I  do  not  describe  my  journey 
because  I  was  ill  all  the  time. 

Eventually  Leo  Tolstoy  made  up  his  mind  to  accompany 
his  sister  and  her  children  abroad,  and  on  3rd  July  (old 
style)  they  took  steamer  from  Petersburg  for  Stettin  en 
route  for  Berlin.  Besides  anxiety  on  his  brother's  account, 
Tolstoy  had  another  reason  for  going  abroad  :  he  wished 
to  study  the  European  systems  of  education,  in  order  to 
know  what  had  been  accomplished  in  the  line  to  which  he 
now  intended  to  devote  himself. 

On  reaching  Berlin  he  suffered  from  toothache  for  four 
days,  and  decided  to  remain  there  while  his  sister  pro- 
ceeded to  join  Nicholas  at  Soden.  He  consulted  a  doctor, 
as  he  was  suffering  also  from  headache  and  hemorrhoidal 
attacks,  and  he  was  ordered  to  take  a  cure  at  Kissingen. 

N 


194  LEO  TOLSTOY 

He  only  stayed  a  few  days  in  Berlin  after  getting  rid  of  his 
toothache,  and  left  on  14th  July  (old  style),  having  how- 
ever found  time  to  attend  lectures  on  History  by  Droysen, 
and  on  Physics  and  Physiology  by  Du  Bois-Reymond,  and 
having  also  visited  some  evening  classes  for  artisans  at  the 
Handxoerksverein,  where  he  was  greatly  interested  in  the 
popular  lectures,  and  particularly  in  the  system  of  '  question- 
boxes.'  The  method  of  arousing  the  interest  of  the 
audience  by  allowing  them  to  propound  questions  for  the 
lecturer  to  reply  to,  was  new  to  him,  and  he  was  struck  by 
the  life  it  brought  into  the  classes,  and  by  the  freedom  of 
mental  contact  between  scholars  and  teacher.  He  noticed 
the  same  thing  when  he  was  in  London  a  few  months  later, 
for  he  told  me  that  nothing  he  saw  there  interested  him 
more  than  a  lecture  he  attended  in  South  Kensington,  at 
which  questions  were  put  by  working  men,  and  answered 
by  a  speaker  who  was  master  of  his  subject  and  knew  how 
to  popularise  it. 

In  Berlin  he  visited  the  Moabit  Prison,  in  which  solitary 
confinement  was  practised.  Tolstoy  strongly  disapproved 
of  this  mechanical  attempt  to  achieve  moral  reformation. 
From  Berlin  he  went  to  Leipzig,  where  he  spent  a  day 
inspecting  schools;  but  he  derived  little  satisfaction  from 
the  Saxon  schools  he  visited,  as  is  indicated  by  a  remark 
he  jotted  down  in  his  Diary,  '  Have  been  in  school — terrible. 
Prayers  for  the  King,  blows,  everything  by  rote,  frightened, 
paralysed  children.  .  .  .'  He  then  proceeded  to  Dresden, 
where  he  called  on  the  novelist  Auerbach,  whose  story,  Ein 
Keues  Lehen  {A  New  Life),  had  much  influenced  him.  The 
chief  character  in  that  story  is  Count  Fulkenberg,  who  after 
being  an  officer  in  the  army,  gets  into  trouble,  escapes 
from  prison,  buys  the  passport  of  a  schoolmaster,  Eugene 
Baumann,  and  under  that  name  devotes  himself  to  the 
task  of  educating  peasant  children.  When  Auerbach 
entered  the  room  in  which  his  visitor  was  waiting,  the  latter 
introduced    himself    with     the    words  :    *  I     am     Eugene 


ABROAD  195 

Baumann/  in  such  solemn  tones  and  with  so  morose  an 
appearance,  that  the  German  writer  was  taken  aback  and 
feared  that  he  was  about  to  be  threatened  with  an  action 
for  libel.  Tolstoy  however  hastened  to  add  :  '  — not  in 
name,  but  in  character — '  and  went  on  to  explain  how 
good  an  effect  Auerbach's  Schwarzwiilder  DorfgescMchten 
{Village  Tales  of  the  Black  Forest)  had  had  on  him. 

After  three  days  in  Dresden,  he  went  on  to  Kissingen, 
which  was  in  those  days  about  five  hours'  journey  from 
Soden,  where  Nicholas  was  staying.  Still  intent  on  his 
educational  inquiries,  he  read  en  route  a  history  of 
pedagogics. 

From  Kissingen  he  wrote  his  Aunt  Tatiana  that  he 
thought  the  cure  was  doing  him  good,  and  added  : 

Tell  the  steward  to  write  me  most  minutely  about  the 
farming,  the  harvest,  the  horses  and  their  illness.  Tell  the 
schoolmaster  to  write  about  the  school :  how  many  pupils  come, 
and  whether  they  learn  well.  I  shall  certainly  return  in 
autumn  and  intend  to  occupy  myself  more  than  ever  with  the 
school,  so  I  do  not  wish  its  reputation  to  be  lost  while  I  am 
away,  and  I  want  as  many  pupils  as  possible  from  different 
parts. 

While  in  Kissingen  he  read  Bacon  and  Luther  and 
Riehl,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  Julius  Froebel,  author 
of  The  System  of  Social  Politics  and  nephew  of  Froebel, 
the  founder  of  the  Kindergarten  system.  Julius  Froebel 
was  himself  much  interested  in  educational  matters,  and 
was  a  particularly  suitable  person  to  explain  his  uncle's 
ideas  to  Tolstoy. 

The  latter  astonished  his  new  acquaintance,  with  whom 
he  used  to  go  for  walks,  by  the  uncompromising  rigidity 
of  his  views,  which  showed  a  considerable  tinge  of  Slavo- 
philism. Progress  in  Russia,  declared  Tolstoy,  must  be 
based  on  popular  education,  which  would  give  better 
results  in  Russia  than  in  Germany,  because  the  Russian 
people   were   still  unpcrverted,  whereas  the  Germans  were 


196  LEO  TOLSTOY 

like  children  who  had  for  years  been  subjected  to  a  bad 
education.  Popular  education  should  not  be  compulsory. 
If  it  is  a  blessing,  the  demand  for  it  should  come  naturally, 
as  the  demand  for  food  comes  from  hunger. 

Tolstoy  visited  the  country  round  Kissingen,  and  travel- 
ling northward  through  a  part  of  Germany  rich  both  in 
scenery  and  in  historic  interest,  reached  Eisenach  and 
visited  the  Wartburg,  where  Luther  was  confined  after  the 
Diet  of  Worms.  The  personality  of  the  great  Protestant 
reformer  interested  Tolstoy  greatly,  and  after  seeing  the 
room  in  which  Luther  commenced  his  translation  of  the 
Bible,  he  noted  in  his  Diary :  '  Luther  was  great ' ! 
Twenty  years  later  Tolstoy  himself  attempted  to  free  the 
minds  of  men  from  the  yoke  of  an  established  Church,  and 
he  too  shaped  his  chief  weapon  against  the  Church  by 
translating,  not,  it  is  true,  like  Luther,  the  whole  Bible, 
but  the  Gospels. 

Meanwhile  Nicholas  Tolstoy's  health  had  been  growing 
worse  rather  than  better.  Sergius,  having  been  unlucky 
at  roulette,  decided  to  return  to  Russia,  and  visiting 
Leo  at  Kissingen  en  route,  told  him  of  his  fears  for 
Nicholas.  On  9th  August  Sergius  left  Kissingen  and 
Nicholas  himself  arrived  there  to  visit  Leo,  but  soon 
returned  to  Soden.  Leo  then  spent  a  fortnight  in  the 
Harz  Mountain  district,  enjoying  nature  and  reading  a 
great  deal.  On  26th  August  he  rejoined  Nicholas,  his 
sister  and  her  children,  at  Soden.  The  doctors  had  decided 
that  Nicholas  must  winter  in  a  warmer  climate,  and  the 
place  decided  on  was  Hyeres  near  Toulon,  on  the  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean. 

The  first  stage  of  the  journey  undertaken  by  the  family 
party  was  to  Frankfurt-on-Main,  where  their  aunt,  the 
Countess  A.  A.  Tolstoy,  was  staying.  She  tells  the 
following  story  of  Leo's  visit  to  h^r  on  this  occasion  : 

One  day  Prince  Alexander  of  Hesse  and  his  wife  were  calling 
on  me,  when  suddenly  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  opened 


ABROAD  197 

and  Leo  appeared  in  the  strangest  garb^  suggestive  of  a  picture 
of  a  Spanish  bandit.  I  gasped  with  astonishment.  Leo 
apparently  was  not  pleased  with  my  visitors,  and  soon  took  his 
departure. 

*  *  Qui  est  done  ce  singulier  personnage .'' '  inquired  my 
visitors  in  astonishment. 

'  Mais  c'est  Leon  Tolstoy.' 

'Ah,  raon  Dieu,  pourquoi  ne  I'avez  vous  pas  nomme  }  Apres 
avoir  lu  ses  admirables  ecrits,  nous  mourions  d'envie  de  le  voir/ 
said  they,  reproachfully. 

From  Frankfurt  the  party  proceeded  to  Hyeres,  where 
Nicholas,  growing  rapidly  worse  and  worse,  died  on  20th 
September  (new  style). 

Few  men  have  been  so  admired  and  loved  as  he  was  by  all 
who  knew  him.  The  only  thing  recorded  against  him  is  the 
fact  that  when  serving  in  the  Caucasus  he,  like  many  of  his 
fellow- officers,  gave  way  to  some  extent  to  intemperance ; 
but  after  returning  home  he  recovered  his  self-control.  I 
have  already  told  of  his  influence  over  Leo  in  the  early 
days  of  the  Ant-Brotherhood,  and  of  the  green  stick, 
buried  where  Tolstoy  himself  wishes  his  body  to  lie.  Such 
influence  he  retained  all  through  life,  and  men  and  women 
of  most  different  temperaments  make  equally  enthusiastic 
mention  of  his  charm  and  goodness.  That  Leo's  judgment 
of  what  is  good  and  bad  has  remained  strongly  influenced 
by  his  love  for  and  memory  of  Nicholas,  is  plain  enough  to 
all  who  have  the  facts  before  them  and  read  his  works 
attentively. 

Tourgenef  once  said  : 

The  humility  which  Leo  Tolstoy  developed  theoretically,  his 
brother  actually  practised  in  life.  He  always  lived  in  the  most 
impossible  lodgings,  almost  hovels,  somewhere  in  the  out-of-the- 

*  Who  is  that  singular  person .'' 
Why,  it  is  Leo  Tolstoy  ! 

Ah,  good  heavens  !  Why  did  you  not  tell  us  who  it  was  ?  After 
reading  his  admirable  writings,  we  were  dying  to  see  him. 


198  LEO  TOLSTOY 

way  quarters  of  Moscow,  and  he  willingly  shared  all  he  had 
with  the  poorest  outcast.  He  was  a  delightful  companion  and 
narrator,  but  writing  was  to  him  almost  a  physical  impossibility, 
the  actual  process  of  writing  being  as  difficult  for  him  as  for  a 
labourer  whose  stiff  hands  will  not  hold  a  pen. 

Nicholas  did,  however,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  contribute 
some  Memoirs  of  a  Sportsman  to  the  Contemporary. 

Never  was  any  one''s  death  more  sincerely  regretted. 
This  is  the  letter  Leo  wrote  to  Aunt  Tatiana,  the  night  the 
event  occurred. 

Chere  Tante  ! — The  black  seal  will  have  told  you  all.  What 
I  have  been  expecting  from  hour  to  hour  for  two  weeks  occurred 
at  nine  o'clock  this  evening.  Only  since  yesterday  did  he  let  me 
help  him  undress,  and  to-day  for  the  first  time  he  definitely  took 
to  his  bed  and  asked  for  a  nurse.  He  was  conscious  all  the  time, 
and  a  quarter-of-an-hour  before  he  died  he  drank  some  milk  and 
told  me  he  was  comfortable.  Even  to-day  he  still  joked  and 
showed  interest  in  my  educational  projects.  Only  a  few 
minutes  before  he  died  he  whispered  several  times  :  '  My  God, 
my  God ! '  It  seems  to  me  that  he  felt  his  position,  but 
deceived  himself  and  us.  Mashenka,  only  to-day,  some  four 
hours  before,  had  gone  three  miles  out  of  Hyeres  to  where  she 
is  living.  She  did  not  at  all  expect  it  to  come  so  soon.  I  have 
just  closed  his  eyes.  I  shall  now  soon  be  back  with  you  and 
will  tell  you  all  personally.  I  do  not  intend  to  transport  the 
body.  The  funeral  Avill  be  arranged  by  the  Princess  Golitsin, 
who  has  taken  it  all  on  herself. 

Farewell,  chere  tante.  I  cannot  console  you.  It  is  God's 
will — that  is  all.  I  am  not  writing  to  Serj'ozha  now.  He  is 
probably  away  hunting,  you  know  where.  So  let  him  know,  or 
send  him  this  letter. 

On  the  day  after  the  funeral  he  wrote  to  Sergius  : 

I  think  you  have  had  news  of  the  death  of  Nicholas.  I  am 
sorry  for  you  that  you  were  not  here.  Hard  as  it  is,  I  am  glad 
it  all  took  place  in  my  presence,  and  that  it  acted  on  me  in  the 
right  way — not  like  Mitenka's  [his  third  brother,  Demetrius] 


ABROAD  199 

death,  of  which  I  heard  when  I  was  not  thinking  at  all  about 
him.  However,  this  is  quite  different.  With  Mitenka  only 
memories  of  childhood  and  family  feeling  were  bound  up;  but 
this  was  a  real  man  both  to  you  and  to  me,  whom  we  loved  and 
respected  positively  more  than  any  one  else  on  earth.  You  know 
the  selfish  feeling  which  came  latterly,  that  the  sooner  it  was 
over  the  better ;  it  is  dreadful  now  to  Avrite  it  and  to  remember 
that  one  thought  it.  Till  the  last  day,  with  his  extraordinary 
strength  of  character  and  power  of  concentration,  he  did  every- 
thing to  avoid  becoming  a  burden  to  me.  On  the  day  of  his 
death  he  dressed  and  washed  himself,  and  in  the  morning  I 
found  him  dressed  on  his  bed.  Only  about  nine  hours  before 
he  died  did  he  give  way  to  his  illness  and  ask  to  be  undressed. 
It  first  happened  in  the  closet.  I  went  downstairs,  and  heard 
his  door  open.  I  returned  and  did  not  find  him.  At  first  I 
feared  to  go  to  him — he  used  not  to  like  it ;  but  this  time  he 
himself  said,  '  Help  me  ! ' 

And  he  submitted  and  became  different  that  day,  mild  and 
gentle.  He  did  not  groan,  did  not  blame  any  one,  praised 
everybody,  and  said  to  me:  'Thank  you,  my  friend.'  You 
understand  what  that  meant  between  us.  I  told  him  I  had 
heard  how  he  coughed  in  the  morning,  but  did  not  come  to 
him  from  fausse  honte  [false  shame].  '  Needlessly,'  said  he — 
'it  would  have  consoled  me.'  Suffering?  He  suffered;  but  it 
was  not  until  a  couple  of  days  before  his  death  that  he  once  said : 
'  How  terrible  these  nights  without  sleep  are  !  Towards  morning 
the  cough  chokes  one,  unendingly  !  And  it  hurts — God  knows 
how!  A  couple  more  such  nights — it's  terrible!'  Not  once 
did  he  say  plainly  that  he  felt  the  approach  of  death.  But  he 
only  did  not  say  it.  On  the  day  of  his  death  he  ordered  a 
dressing-gown,  and  yet  when  I  remarked  that  if  he  did  not 
get  better,  Mashenka  and  I  would  not  go  to  Switzerland,  he 
replied:  'Do  you  really  think  I  shall  be  better?'  in  such  a 
tone  that  it  was  evident  what  he  felt  but  for  my  sake  did  not 
say,  and  what  I  for  his  sake  did  not  show ;  all  the  same,  from 
the  morning  I  knew  what  was  coming,  and  was  with  him  all 
the  time.  He  died  quite  without  suffering — externall}',  at  all 
events.  He  breathed  more  and  more  slowly — and  it  was  all 
over.     The  next  day  I  went  to  him  and  feared  to  uncover  his 


200  LEO  TOLSTOY 

face.  I  thought  it  would  show  yet  more  suffering  and  be  more 
terrible  than  during  his  illness ;  but  you  cannot  imagine  what 
a  beautiful  face  it  was,  with  his  best,  merry,  calm  expression. 

Yesterday  he  was  buried  here.  At  one  time  I  thought  of 
transporting  him,  and  of  telegraphing  for  you;  but  I  recon- 
sidered it.  It  is  no  use  chafing  the  wound.  I  am  sorry  for  you 
that  the  news  will  have  reached  you  out  hunting,  amid  distrac- 
tions, and  will  not  grip  you  as  it  does  us.  It  is  good  for  one. 
I  now  feel  what  I  have  often  been  told,  that  when  one  loses 
some  one  who  was  what  he  was  to  us,  it  becomes  much  easier  to 
think  of  one's  own  death. 

On  13th  October  1860  he  notes  in  his  Diary : 

It  is  nearly  a  month  since  Nicholas  died.  That  event  has 
torn  me  terribly  from  life.  Again  the  question :  Why  > 
Already  the  departure  draws  near.  Whither?  Nowhere.  I 
try  to  write,  I  force  myself,  but  do  not  get  on,  because  I 
cannot  attach  enough  importance  to  the  work  to  supply  the 
necessary  strength  and  patience.  At  the  very  time  of  the 
funeral  the  thought  occurred  to  me  to  write  a  Materialist 
Gospel,  a  Life  of  Christ  as  a  Materialist. 

One  sees  how  bit  by  bit  the  seeds  of  the  work  Tolstoy 
was  to  do  in  later  years  planted  themselves  in  his  mind. 
In  early  childhood  came  the  enthusiasm  for  the  Ant- 
Brotherhood  and  the  influence  of  his  brother,  of  Aunt 
Tatiana,  and  of  the  pilgrims ;  then  an  acquaintance  with 
the  writings  of  Voltaire  and  other  sceptics,  undermining 
belief  in  the  miraculous  ;  then,  in  Sevastopol,  the  idea  of 
'  founding  a  new  religion  :  Christianity  purged  of  dogmas 
and  mysticism "" ;  then  a  study  of  Luther's  Reformation, 
and  now  the  idea  of  a  rationalist  Life  of  Christ. 

On  1 7th  October  Tolstoy  writes  to  Fet : 

I  think  you  already  know  what  has  happened.  On  20 
September  he  died,  literally  in  my  arms.  Nothing  in  my  life 
has  so  impressed  me.  It  is  true,  as  he  said,  that  nothing  is 
worse  than  death.  And  when  one  reflects  well  that  yet  thai  is 
the  end  of  all,  then  there  is  nothing  worse  than  life.     Why 


Toi.bTOV    IN     i860,    THE   YEAR    HIS    BROTHER 

Nicholas  died. 


ABROAD  201 

strive  or  try,  since  of  what  was  Nicholas  Tolstoy  nothing 
remains  his  ?  He  did  not  say  that  he  felt  the  approach  of 
deathj  but  I  know  he  watched  each  step  of  its  approach  and 
knew  with  certainty  how  much  remained.  Some  moments 
before  his  death  he  drowsed  off,  but  awoke  suddenly  and 
whispered  with  horror  :  '  What  is  that  ?  '  That  was  when  he 
saw  it — the  absorption  of  himself  into  Nothingness.  And  if  he 
found  nothing  to  cling  to,  what  can  I  find  ?  Still  less  !  And 
assuredly  neither  I  nor  any  one  will  fight  it  to  the  last  moment, 
as  he  did.  Two  days  before,  I  said  to  him  :  *  We  ought  to  put 
a  commode  in  your  room.' 

'  No,'  said  he,  '  I  am  weak,  but  not  yet  so  weak  as  that ;  I 
will  struggle  on  yet  awhile.' 

To  the  last  he  did  not  yield,  but  did  everything  for  himself, 
and  always  tried  to  be  occupied.  He  wrote,  questioned  me 
about  my  writings,  and  advised  me.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  did  all  this  not  from  any  inner  impulse,  but  on  principle. 
One  thing — his  love  of  Nature — remained  to  the  last.  The 
day  before,  he  went  into  his  bedroom  and  from  weakness  fell 
on  his  bed  by  the  open  window.  I  came  to  him,  and  he  said 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  '  How  I  have  enjoyed  this  whole  hour.' 

From  earth  we  come,  and  to  the  earth  we  go.  One  thing  is 
left — a  dim  hope  that  there,  in  Nature,  of  which  we  become 
part  in  the  earth,  something  will  remain  and  will  be  found. 

All  who  knew  and  saw  his  last  moments,  say :  '  How 
wonderfully  calmly,  peacefully  he  died ' ;  but  I  know  with 
what  terrible  pain,  for  not  one  feeling  of  his  escaped  me. 

A  thousand  times  I  say  to  myself:  '  Let  the  dead  bury  their 
dead.'  One  must  make  some  use  of  the  strength  which 
remains  to  one,  but  one  cannot  persuade  a  stone  to  fall 
upwards  instead  of  downwards  whither  it  is  drawn.  One 
cannot  laugh  at  a  joke  one  is  weary  of.  One  cannot  eat  when 
one  does  not  want  to.  And  what  is  life  all  for,  when  to-morrow 
the  torments  of  death  will  begin,  with  all  the  abomination  of 
falsehood  and  self-deception,  and  will  end  in  annihilation  for 
oneself.'^  An  amusing  thing !  Be  useful,  be  beneficent,  be 
happy  while  life  lasts, — say  people  to  one  another;  but  you, 
and  happiness,  and  virtue,  and  utility,  consist  of  truth.  And 
the  truth  I  have  learned  in  thirty-two  years  is,  that  the  posi- 


202  LEO  TOLSTOY 

tion  in  which  we  are  placed  is  terrible.  '  Take  life  as  it  is ; 
you  have  put  yourselves  in  that  position.'  How  !  1  take  life  as 
it  is.  As  soon  as  man  reaches  the  highest  degree  of  develop- 
ment, he  sees  clearly  that  it  is  all  nonsense  and  deception,  and 
that  the  truth — which  he  still  loves  better  than  all  else — is 
terrible.  That  when  you  look  at  it  well  and  clearly,  you 
wake  with  a  start  and  say  with  terror,  as  my  brother  did  : 
'  What  is  that  ? ' 

Of  course,  so  long  as  the  desire  to  know  and  speak  the  truth 
lasts,  one  tries  to  know  and  speak.  That  alone  remains  to  me 
of  the  moral  world ;  higher  than  that  I  cannot  place  myself. 
That  alone  I  will  do,  but  not  in  the  form  of  your  art.  Art  is 
a  lie,  and  I  can  no  longer  love  a  beautiful  lie. 

I  shall  remain  here  for  the  winter  because  I  am  here,  and  it 
is  all  the  same  where  one  lives.  Please  write  to  me,  I  love 
you  as  my  brother  loved  you,  and  he  remembered  you  to  his 
last  moment. 

A  month  later  we  find  him  writing  in  a  different  state 
of  mind : 

A  boy  of  thirteen  has  died  in  torment  from  consumption. 
What  for  ?  The  only  explanation  is  given  by  faith  in  the  com- 
pensation of  a  future  life.  If  that  does  not  exist,  there  is  no 
justice,  and  justice  is  vain,  and  the  demand  for  justice — a 
superstition. 

Justice  forms  the  most  essential  demand  of  man  to  man. 
And  man  looks  for  the  same  in  his  relation  to  the  universe. 
Without  a  future  life  it  is  lacking.  Expediency  is  the  sole,  the 
unalterable  law  of  Nature,  say  the  naturalists.  But  in  the  best 
manifestations  of  man's  soul :  love  and  poetry — it  is  absent. 
This  has  all  existed  and  has  died — often  without  expressing 
itself.  Nature,  if  her  one  law  be  expediency,  far  o'erstepped 
her  aim  when  she  gave  man  the  need  of  poetry  and  love. 

Nearly  twenty  years  later,  in  his  Cortfession^  Tolstoy 
referred  to  his  brother's  death  in  the  words : 

Another  event  which  showed  me  that  the  superstitious  belief 
in  progress  is  insufficient  as  a  guide  to  life,  was  my  brother's 


ABROAD  203 

death.  Wise,  good,  serious,  he  fell  ill  while  still  a  young  man, 
suffered  for  moi-e  than  a  year  and  died  painfully,  not  under- 
standing why  he  had  lived,  and  still  less  why  he  had  to  die. 
No  theories  could  give  me,  or  him,  any  reply  to  these  questions 
during  his  slow  and  painful  dying. 

Any  one  who  has  read  the  works  Tolstoy  wrote  during 
the  quarter  of  a  century  which  succeeded  his  brother's 
death,  will  be  aware  how  long  he  remained  in  doubt  on 
this  matter  of  a  future  life,  and  how  he  expressed  now  one, 
and  now  another  view. 

At  Hyeres  he  continued  to  study  the  question  of 
education,  and  for  that  purpose  made  many  visits  to 
Marseilles.  He  also  Avrote  :  continuing  Tlie  Cossacks  and 
commencing  an  article  on  Popular  Education.  We  get 
a  glimpse  of  him  at  this  period  from  his  sister,  who  tells 
us  that  they  had  been  invited  to  an  At  Home  at  Prince 
Doundoukdf  -  Korsakof s  ;  but  Tolstoy,  who  was  to  have 
been  the  lion  of  the  occasion,  failed  to  put  in  an  appear- 
ance. The  company,  which  included  all  the  '  best '  people, 
were  getting  dull,  despite  everything  the  hostess  could 
devise  for  their  amusement,  when  at  last,  very  late,  Count 
Tolstov  was  announced.  The  hostess  and  her  g-uests 
immediately  brightened  up  ;  but  what  was  their  astonish- 
ment to  see  him  appear  in  tourist  garb  and  wearing 
wooden  sabots  !  He  had  been  for  a  long  walk,  and  return- 
ing late,  had  come  to  the  party  without  calling  at  his 
lodgings ;  and  no  sooner  was  he  in  the  room  than  he 
began  assuring  everybody  that  wooden  sabots  were  the  very 
best  and  most  comfortable  of  foot-gear,  and  advising  every 
one  to  adopt  them.  Even  in  those  days  he  was  a  man  to 
whom  all  things  were  allowed,  and  the  evening,  instead  of 
being  spoilt,  became  all  the  gayer  from  his  eccentricity. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  singing,  and  it  fell  to  Tolstoy's 
lot  to  accompany  the  singers. 

At  Hyeres,  after  his  brother's  death,  Tolstoy  lived  with 
his  sister  and  her  three  children  in  a  pension  where   the 


204  LEO  TOLSTOY 

only  other  lodgers  were  a  Madame  Plaksin  and  her  delicate 
nine-year-old  son  Sergey,  whose  lungs  were  thought  to  be 
affected,  but  who  lived  to  become  a  poet  and  to  publish  his 
recollections  of  Tolstoy.  Plaksin  describes  him  as  having 
been  at  that  time  a  strongly  built,  broad-shouldered  man, 
with  a  good-natured  smile  on  his  face,  which  was  fringed 
by  a  thick,  dark-brown  beard.  Under  a  large  forehead, 
still  bearing  a  deep  scar  from  the  wound  inflicted  by  the 
bear  two  years  before,  wise,  kind  eyes  shone  out  of  very 
deep  sockets.  '  Tolstoy,'  says  Plaksin, '  was  the  soul  of  our 
little  society,  and  I  never  saw  him  dull ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  liked  to  amuse  us  with  his  stories,  which  were  sometimes 
extremely  fantastic'  Tolstoy  rose  early,  and  while  he  was 
at  work  the  children  were  not  allowed  to  disturb  him 
beyond  running  in  for  a  moment  to  say  '  good-morning.' 
Being  himself  an  indefatigable  walker,  Tolstoy  used  to 
plan  out  excursions  for  the  company,  constantly  discovering 
new  places  to  visit :  the  salterns  on  the  peninsula  of  Por- 
querolle ;  the  holy  hill  where  the  chapel  with  the  wonder- 
workinsj  image  of  the  Madonna  stands  :  or  the  ruins  of  the 
castle  called  Ti'ou  des  Fees.  They  used  to  have  with  them 
on  these  excursions,  a  small  ass  carrying  provisions,  fruit 
and  wine. 

On  the  way  Tolstoy  used  to  tell  us  various  tales  ;  I  remember 
one  about  a  golden  horse  and  a  giant  tree,  from  the  top  of 
which  all  the  seas  and  all  towns  were  visible.  Knowing  that 
my  lungs  were  delicate,  he  often  took  me  on  his  shoulder  and 
continued  his  tale  as  he  walked  along.  Need  I  say  that  we 
would  have  laid  down  our  lives  for  him  ? 

At  dinner-time  Tolstoy  used  to  tell  the  French  pro- 
prietors of  the  pension  the  strangest  stories  about  Russia, 
which  they  never  knew  whether  or  not  to  believe  until 
the  Countess  or  Madame  Pldksin  came  to  their  rescue  by 
separating  the  truth  from  the  fiction. 

After  dinner,  either  on  the  terrace  or  indoors,  a  per- 


ABROAD  205 

formance  commenced,  opera  or  ballet,  to  the  sound  of  the 
piano  :  the  children  '  mercilessly  tormenting  the  ears  of  the 
audience'  (which  consisted  of  the  two  ladies,  Tolstoy,  and 
Pldksin's  nurse).  Next  came  gymnastic  exercises,  in  which 
Tolstoy  acted  as  professor.  '  He  would  lie  at  full  length 
on  the  floor,  making  us  do  the  same,  and  we  had  then  to 
get  up  without  using  our  hands.'  He  also  contrived  an 
apparatus  out  of  rope,  which  he  fixed  up  in  the  doorway ; 
and  on  this  he  performed  somersaults,  to  the  great  delight 
of  his  juvenile  audience. 

When  the  latter  became  too  turbulent  and  the  ladies 
begged  Tolstoy  to  subdue  the  noise,  he  would  set  the  chil- 
dren round  the  table,  and  tell  them  to  bring  pens  and  ink. 

The  following  is  an  example  of  the  sort  of  occupation  he 
provided  : 

'  Listen/  said  he  one  day ;  '  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  lesson.' 

'  What  on .'' '  demanded  bright-eyed  Lisa, 

Disregarding  his  niece's  question,  he  continued : 

'Write  .  .  .' 

'  But  what  are  we  to  write^  uncle  "?  '  persisted  Lisa. 

'  Listen ;  I  will  give  you  a  theme  .  .  . ! ' 

'  What  will  you  give  us  ?  ' 

'  A  theme  ! '  firmly  replied  Tolstoy.  '  In  what  respect  does 
Russia  differ  from  other  countries.''  W^rite  it  here,  in  my 
presence,  and  don't  copy  from  one  another !  Do  you  hear  ? ' 
added  he,  impressively. 

In  half  an  hour  the  '  compositions '  were  ready.  Plak- 
sin  had  to  read  his  own,  as  his  lines  were  so  irregular  that 
no  one  else  could  decipher  them.  In  his  opinion  Russia 
diff'ered  from  other  countries  in  that,  at  carnival  time, 
Russians  eat  pancakes  and  slide  down  ice-hills,  and  at 
Easter  they  colour  esrffs. 

'  Bravo  ! '  said  Tolstoy,  and  proceeded  to  make  out 
Kdlya's  MS.,  in  which  Russia  was  distinguished  by  its 
snow,  and  I^isa's,  in  which  '  troikas '  (three-horse  convey- 
ances) played  the  chief  part. 


206  LEO  TOLSTOY 

In  rswai'd  for  these  evening  exercises,  Tolstoy  brought 
water-colour  paints  from  Marseilles  and  taught  the  children 
drawing. 

He  often  spent  nearly  the  whole  day  with  the  children, 
teaching  them,  taking  part  in  their  games,  and  intervening 
in  their  disputes,  which  he  analysed,  proving  to  them  who 
was  in  the  right  and  who  in  the  wrong. 

There  was  at  this  time  some  mutual  attraction  between 
Tolstoy  and  a  young  Russian  lady.  Miss  Yakovlef,  who  was 
staying  at  Hyeres ;  but,  like  many  other  similar  affairs,  it 
came  to  nothing. 

On  leaving  Hyeres,  Tolstoy,  his  sister,  and  her  children, 
went  to  Geneva,  and  from  thence  he  proceeded  alone  to 
Nice,  Leghorn,  Florence,  Rome,  and  Naples.  In  Italy  he 
says  he  experienced  his  first  lively  impression  of  antiquity ; 
but  very  little  record  remains  of  this  journey,  and  it  is 
nowhere  reflected  in  his  writings. 

He  returned  to  Paris  via  Marseilles,  the  schools  and 
other  institutions  of  which  he  observed  closely,  trying  to 
discover  how  man's  intelligence  is  really  best  developed. 

He  was  very  unfavourably  impressed  by  the  popular 
schools  of  Marseilles.  The  studies,  he  says,  consisted  in 
learning  by  heart  the  Catechism,  sacred  and  general 
History,  the  four  rules  of  Arithmetic,  French  spelling  and 
Book-keeping — the  latter  without  sufficient  comprehension 
of  the  use  of  arithmetic  to  enable  the  children  to  deal 
sensibly  with  the  simplest  practical  problems  requiring 
addition  and  subtraction,  though  they  could  do  long  multi- 
plication sums  quickly  and  well  when  only  abstract  figures 
were  given.  Similarly,  they  answered  well  by  rote  ques- 
tions in  French  History,  but,  when  asked  at  hazard,  they 
would  give  such  answers  as  that  Henry  IV  was  killed  by 
Julius  Caesar. 

He  observed  the  instruction  given  by  the  Churches,  and 
visited  the  adult  schools  of  the  town,  as  well  as  its  Salles 
crAs'ile^  in  which,  he  says : 


ABROAD  207 

I  saw  four-year-old  childi-en  perform  like  soldiers,  evolu- 
tions round  benches  to  orders  given  by  whistle,  and  raise  and 
cross  their  arms  to  the  word  of  command,  and  with  strange 
trembling  voices  sing  hymns  of  praise  to  God  and  their  bene- 
factors ;  and  I  became  convinced  that  the  educational  establish- 
ments of  Marseilles  were  extremely  bad. 

Any  one  seeing  them  would  naturally  conclude  that  the 
French  people  must  be  ignorant,  coarse,  hypocritical,  full  of 
superstition  and  almost  savage. 

Yet  one  need  only  come  in  contact  with  and  chat  with  any 
of  the  common  people,  to  convince  oneself  that  on  the  contrary 
the  French  people  are  almost  what  they  consider  themselves  to 
be :  intelligent,  clever,  sociable,  freethinking,  and  really  civil- 
ised. Take  a  Avorkman  of,  say,  thirty  years  of  age :  he  will 
write  a  letter  without  such  mistakes  as  at  school,  sometimes 
even  quite  correctly ;  he  has  some  idea  of  politics,  and  therefore 
of  recent  history  and  geography ;  he  knows  some  history  from 
novels,  knows  something  of  natural  history,  and  he  very  often 
draws,  and  is  able  to  apply  mathematical  formulae  to  his  trade. 
Where  did  he  get  all  this  ? 

I  recently  discovered  the  answer  in  Marseilles,  by  wandering 
about  the  streets,  drink-shops,  cafes  chantants,  museums,  work- 
shops, wharves  and  book-stalls.  The  very  boy  who  told  me 
that  Henry  IV  was  killed  by  Julius  Caesar,  knew  the  history  of 
The  Three  Musketeers  and  of  Monte  Crista  very  well. 

In  Marseilles  Tolstoy  found  that  everybody  had  read 
Dumas''  works,  of  which  there  were  twenty-eight  cheap 
editions.  He  estimated  that  each  week,  in  the  cafes 
chantants,  at  least  one-fifth  of  the  population  received  oral 
education,  as  the  Greeks  and  Romans  used  to  do.  Comedies 
and  sketches  were  performed,  verses  declaimed,  and  the  in- 
fluence for  good  or  evil  of  this  unconscious  education  far  out- 
weighed that  of  the  compulsory  education  given  in  schools. 

In  January  he  reached  Paris,  where  he  spent  a  large 
part  of  his  time  in  omnibuses,  amusing  himself  by 
observing  the  people.      He  declares  he  never  met  a 
passenger  who  was  not  represented  in  one  or  other  of  Paul 


208  LEO  TOLSTOY 

de  Kock's  stories.  Of  that  writer,  as  of  Dumas  ph-e,  he 
thinks  highly.  '  Don't  talk  nonsense  to  me,'  he  once  said, 
'  about  Paul  de  Kock's  immorality.  He  is,  according  to 
English  ideas,  somewhat  improper.  He  is  more  or  less 
what  the  French  call  teste  and  gaulois,  but  never  immoral. 
In  everything  he  says,  and  despite  his  rather  free  jests,  his 
tendency  is  quite  moral.  He  is  a  French  Dickens.  ...  As 
to  Dumas,  every  novelist  should  know  him  by  heart.  His 
plots  are  admirable,  not  to  mention  the  workmanship.  I 
can  read  and  re-read  him,  though  he  aims  chiefly  at  plots 
and  intrigue.' 

In  Paris  he  again  met  Tourgenef ;  and  from  France  he 
went  on  to  London,  where  he  remained  six  weeks,  not 
enjoying  his  visit  much  as  he  suffered  severely  from  tooth- 
ache nearly  all  the  time.  It  is  characteristic  of  Tolstoy 
that  though  he  has  often  been  a  victim  to  toothache  and 
has  also  been  much  tried  by  digestive  troubles,  he  never 
appears  to  have  had  his  teeth  properly  attended  to  by  a 
dentist.  A  dentist's  establishment  seems  to  him  so  un- 
natural and  artificial  that  it  must  be  wrong.  Moreover, 
dentists  do  not  always  do  their  work  well ;  and  toothache 
— if  one  endures  it  long  enough — cures  itself,  and  in 
the  past  the  majority  of  mankind  have  got  along  without 
dentists.  So  he  has  been  inclined  to  put  up  with  toothache 
as  one  of  the  ills  it  is  best  to  bear  patiently. 

During  his  stay  he,  and  Tourgenef  who  had  also  come 
to  London,  saw  a  great  deal  of  Alexander  Herzen,  who  was 
editing  KoloJcol  {The  Bell) — the  most  influential  paper  ever 
published  by  a  Russian  exile. 

I  have  already  remarked  on  the  fact  that  the  Reform 
movements  of  that  time  left  Tolstoy  curiously  cold  ;  and 
here  again  it  may  be  noted  that  though  Tourgenef  con- 
tributed to  Herzen's  prohibited  paper,  Tolstoy  never  wrote 
anything  for  it. 

Herzen's  little  daughter,  who  had  read  and  greatly 
enjoyed  Childhood,  Boyhood^  and    Youth,  hearing  that  the 


ABROAD  209 

author  was  coming  to  see  her  father,  obtained  permission 
to  be  present  when  he  called.  She  ensconced  herself  in  an 
arm-chair  in  a  corner  of  the  study  at  the  appointed  time, 
and  when  Count  Tolstoy  was  announced,  awaited  his 
appearance  with  beating  heart ;  but  she  was  profoundly 
disillusioned  bv  the  entrance  of  a  man  of  society  manners, 
fashionably  dressed  in  the  latest  style  of  English  tailoring, 
who  began  at  once  to  tell  with  gusto  of  the  cock-fights 
and  boxing-matches  he  had  already  managed  to  witness  in 
London.  Not  a  single  word  with  which  she  could  sym- 
pathise did  she  hear  from  Tolstoy  throughout  that  one  and 
only  occasion  on  which  she  was  privileged  to  listen  to  his 
conversation;  and  in  this  she  was  particularly  unlucky,  for 
Tolstoy  saw  Herzen  very  frequently  during  his  stay  in 
London,  and  the  two  discussed  all  sorts  of  important 
questions  together. 

One  of  Herzeu's  closest  friends  and  co-workers  during 
his  long  exile  from  Russia,  was  the  poet  N.  P.  Ogarydf,  who 
had  been  his  fellow- student  at  the  Moscow  University. 
Ogarydf,  besides  being  a  man  of  ability,  possessed  a  very 
amiable  character  that  greatly  endeared  him  to  his  friends ; 
but  in  an  essay  entitled  The  First  Step^  written  in  1892, 
we  get  a  glimpse  of  what  alienated  Tolstoy ""s  sympathy 
from  the  progressive  movement  these  men  represented. 
He  there  says : 

I  have  just  been  reading  the  letters  of  one  of  our  highly 
educated  and  advanced  men  of  the  'forties,  the  exile  Ogaryof, 
to  another  yet  more  highly  educated  and  gifted  man,  Herzen. 
In  these  letters  Ogaryof  gives  expression  to  his  sincere 
thoughts  and  highest  aspirations,  and  one  cannot  fail  to 
see  that — as  was  natural  to  a  young  man — he  rather  shows 
off  before  his  friend.  He  talks  of  self-perfecting,  of  sacred 
friendship,  love,  the  service  of  science,  of  humanity,  and  the 
like.  And  at  the  same  time  he  calmly  writes  that  he  often 
irritates  the  companion  of  his  life  by,  as  he  expresses  it,  '  return- 

^  In  the  volume  Essays  and  Letters,  included  in  the  World's  Classics, 

O 


210  LEO  TOLSTOY 

ing  home  in  an  unsober  state,  or  disappearing  for  many  hours 
with  a  fallen,  but  dear  creature.'  .  .  . 

Evidently  it  never  even  occurred  to  this  remarkably  kind- 
hearted,  talented,  and  well-educated  man  that  there  was  any- 
thing at  all  objectionable  in  the  fact  that  he,  a  married  man, 
awaiting  the  confinement  of  his  wife  (in  his  next  letter  he 
writes  that  his  wife  has  given  birth  to  a  child)  returned  home 
intoxicated,  and  disappeared  with  dissolute  women.  It  did 
not  enter  his  head  that  until  he  had  commenced  the  struggle, 
and  had  at  least  to  some  extent  conquered  his  inclination  to 
drunkenness  and  fornication,  he  could  not  think  of  friendship 
and  love,  and  still  less  of  serving  any  one  or  any  thing.  But 
he  not  only  did  not  struggle  against  these  vices — he  evidently 
thought  there  was  something  very  nice  in  them,  and  that  they 
did  not  in  the  least  hinder  the  struggle  for  perfection ;  and 
therefore  instead  of  hiding  them  from  the  friend  in  whose  eyes 
he  wishes  to  appear  in  a  good  light,  he  exhibits  them. 

Thus  it  was  half  a  century  ago.  I  was  contemporary  with 
such  men.  I  knew  Ogaryof  and  Herzen  themselves  and  others 
of  that  stamp,  and  men  educated  in  the  same  traditions.  There 
was  a  remarkable  absence  of  consistency  in  the  lives  of  all  these 
men.  Together  with  a  sincere  and  ardent  wish  for  good,  there 
Avas  an  utter  looseness  of  personal  desire,  which,  they  thought, 
could  not  hinder  the  living  of  a  good  life,  nor  the  performance 
of  good  and  even  great  deeds.  They  put  unkneaded  loaves 
into  a  cold  oven,  and  believed  that  bread  would  be  baked. 
And  then,  when  with  advancing  years  they  began  to  remark 
that  the  bread  did  not  bake — i.e.  that  no  good  came  of  their 
lives — they  saw  in  this  something  peculiarly  tragic. 

This  was  written  twenty  years  later ;  but  it  was  latent 
in  his  mind  at  the  time,  and  furnishes  a  clue  to  the  fact 
that  he  never  really  made  friends  with  these  men. 

Of  Herzen  as  a  writer  Tolstoy  ultimately  came  to  have 
a  very  high  opinion,  and  admitted  that  he  exerted  a  very 
considerable  influence  on  the  mind  of  educated  Russia. 

In  England,  as  elsewhere,  Tolstoy  saw  as  much  as  he 
could   of   the   educational    methods    in    vogue.       He   also 


ABROAD  211 

visited  the  House  of  Commons  and  heard  Palmerston  speak 
for  three  hours  ;  but  he  told  me  he  could  form  no  opinion 
of  the  oration,  for  '  at  that  time  I  knew  English  with  my 
eyes  but  not  with  my  ears.' 

^Vhile  in  London,  he  received  news  that  he  had  been 
nominated  Arbiter  of  the  Peace  for  his  own  district,  near 
Toula,  The  duties  of  the  office  were  to  settle  disputes 
between  the  serfs  and  their  former  proprietors.  Except  a 
short  service  on  the  Zemstvo  in  1874,  this  was  the  only 
official  position  in  which  Tolstoy  ever  took  much  active 
part  after  leaving  the  army. 

On  3rd  March  (new  style),  the  day  of  Alexander  IFs 
famous  Manifesto  emancipating  the  serfs,  Tolstoy  left 
London  for  Russia  via  Brussels.  In  that  city  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Proudhon  (the  author  of  Quest-ce  que 
la  Propri^te  ?  and  a  Systeme  des  Contradictions  Kconomiques) 
to  whom  Herzen  had  given  him  a  letter  of  introduction. 
Proudhon  impressed  Tolstoy  as  a  strong  man  who  had  the 
courage  of  his  opinions  ;  and  though  Proudhon's  theories 
had  no  immediate  effect  on  Tolstoy's  life,  the  social 
political  and  economic  views  expounded  by  the  latter  a 
quarter  of  a  century  later,  are  deeply  dyed  with  Proud- 
honism.  Both  writers  consider  that  property  is  robbery ; 
interest  immoral ;  peaceful  anarchy  the  desirable  culmina- 
tion of  social  progress,  and  that  every  man  should  be  a  law 
unto  himself,  restrained  solely  by  reason,  conscience  and 
moral  suasion.  Another  writer  whose  acquaintance  Tolstoy 
made  in  Brussels  was  the  Polish  patriot  Lelewel,  who  had 
taken  a  prominent  part  in  the  rebellion  of  1830,  and  had 
written  on  Polish  history  and  on  many  other  subjects.  He 
was  at  this  time  a  decrepit  old  man  living  in  great  poverty- 
While  in  Brussels  Tolstov  wrote  PoUkoushka.  almost  the 
only  story  of  his  (besides  A  Squire's  Morning)  that  implies 
a  condemnation  of  serfdom. 

Passing  through  Germany,  Tolstoy  stopped  at  Weimar, 
\There  he  stayed  with  the  Russian  Ambassador,  Von  Mai- 


212  LEO  TOLSTOY 

titz,  and  was  introduced  to  the  Grand  Duke  Carl  Alexander. 
Tolstoy  (who  had  been  reading  Goethe's  Reineke  Fuchs  not 
long  before)  visited  the  house  in  which  Goethe  had  lived, 
but  was  more  interested  in  a  Kindergarten  conducted  by 
Minna  Schelholm,  who  had  been  trained  by  Froebel.  From 
another  school  he  visited,  we  hear  of  his  collecting  and 
carrying  off  the  essays  the  pupils  had  written,  explaining  to 
the  master  that  he  was  much  concerned  with  the  problem, 
'  How  to  make  thought  flow  more  freely.' 

At  Jena  he  made  acquaintance  with  a  young  mathema- 
tician named  Keller,  whom  he  persuaded  to  accompany  him 
to  Yasnaya  to  help  him  in  his  educational  activities.  He 
also  stopped  at  Dresden,  where  he  again  visited  Auerbach, 
concerning  whom  he  jots  down  in  his  Diary  : 

21  April,  Dresden :  Auerbach  is  a  most  charming  man. 
Has  given  me  a  light.  .  .  .  He  spoke  of  Christianity  as  the 
spirit  of  humanity,  than  which  there  is  nothing  higher.  He 
reads  verse  enchantingly.  Of  Music  as  PJlichtloser  Genuss 
(dutyless  pleasure).  .  .  .  He  is  49  years  old.  Straightforward, 
youthful,  believing,  not  troubled  by  negation. 

On  another  occasion  Tolstoy  expressed  surprise  at  never 
having  seen  Auerbach's  Village  Tales  of  the  Black  Forest 
in  any  German  peasant's  house,  and  declared  that  Russian 
peasants  would  have  wept  over  such  stories. 

From  Dresden  he  wrote  to  his  Aunt  Tatiana : 

*  Je  me  porte  bien  et  briile  d'envie  de  retourner  en  Russie. 
Mais  une  fois  en  Europe  et  ne  sachant  quand  j'y  retournerai, 
vous  comprenez  que  j'ai  voulu  profiter,  autaut  que  possible,  de 
mon  voyage.  Et  je  crois  I'avoir  fait.  Je  rapporte  une  si  grande 
quantite   d'impressions,   de   connaissances,   que   je    devrai    tra- 


*  I  am  in  good  health  and  burn  with  desire  to  return  to  Russia. 
But  once  in  Europe  and  not  knowing  when  I  shall  return,  you 
understand  that  I  wanted  to  benefit  as  much  as  possible  by  my 
travels.     And  I  think  I  have  done  so.     I  am  bringing  back  such  a 


ABROAD  213 

vailler  longtempsj  avant  de  pouvoir  mettre  tout  cela  en  ordre 
dans  ma  tete. 

I  am  bringing  with  me  a  German  from  the  University,  to  be 
a  teacher  and  clerk,  a  very  nice,  well-educated  man,  but  still 
very  young  and  unpractical. 

He  adds  that  he  intends  to  return  to  Ydsnaya  via 
St.  Petersburg,  as  he  wants  to  obtain  permission  to  publish 
an  educational  magazine  he  is  projecting. 

On  22nd  April  he  was  already  in  Berlin,  where  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  head  of  the  Teachers'  Seminary, 
the  son  of  the  celebrated  pedagogue  Diesterweg,  whom,  to 
his  disappointment,  he  found  to  be  '  a  cold,  soulless  pedant, 
who  thinks  he  can  develop  and  guide  the  souls  of  children 
by  rules  and  regulations.' 

On  23rd  April  (old  style)  he  re-entered  Russia,  after  a 
stay  abroad  of  nearly  ten  months. 

He  brought  with  him  complete  editions  of  the  works  of 
several  of  the  greatest  European  writers.  They  were  kept 
at  the  Custom  House  to  be  submitted  to  the  Censor,  and, 
as  Tolstoy  plaintively  remarked  nearly  half  a  century  later, 
'  he  is  still  reading  them  ! ' 


CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  VI 

Birukof. 

Bitovt. 

Fet,  Moi  Vospominaniya  :  Moscow,  1890. 

Tolstoy's  Confession. 

Golovatcheva-Panaeva,  Eousskie  Pisateli  i  Artisty. 

Tourgenef,  Letters. 

S.  Plaksin,  Graf  L.  Tolstoy  sredi  detey. 

Tolstoy's  works,  vol.  iv.  :  Moscow,  1903. 

R.  Lowenfeld,  Leo  N.  Tolstoj. 

R.  Lowenfeld,  Gesprdche  uber  und  mit  Tolstoy. 

ffreat  quantity   of  impressions  and  facts,  that  I  must  work  a  long 
time  before  I  can  get  it  all  in  order  in  my  head. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AT   yXsNAYA    again  ;   TOURGENEF  ;    ARBITER ; 

MAGAZINE 

Quarrel  with  Tourgenef.    Attitude  towards  Reforms.   Arbiter 
of  the  Peace.     Educational  Magazine. 

After  the  winter's  snow  has  so  far  thawed  that  sleighing  is 
impracticable,  there  comes  a  time  during  which  there  is  still 
too  much  snow  left,  and  the  roads  have  become  too  soft  to 
allow  of  travelling  on  wheels,  and  when  transit  is  practically 
impossible.  Tolstoy  reached  Moscow  at  this  transition  period, 
but  had  not  to  wait  long  before  the  roads  were  dry  enough 
for  carriage  traffic.  He  made  the  journey  southward  to 
Toiila  in  company  with  Mrs.  Fet,  wife  of  his  friend  the  poet. 
Mrs.  Fet  was  travelling  in  her  own  carriage,  accompanied 
by  her  maid,  to  the  estate  Fet  had  purchased  at  some 
distance  from  Yasnaya.  Tolstoy  had  his  own  conveyance, 
but  for  company's  sake  changed  places  with  the  maid  and 
travelled  with  Mrs.  Fet.  In  the  cool  of  the  evening  he 
borrowed  and  wrapped  himself  in  a  cloak  of  Fet's,  declar- 
ing that  this  would  be  sure  to  result  in  his  producing  a 
lyric  poem. 

Soon  after  reaching  Yasnaya  he  wrote  (in  the  third  week 
of  May)  to  congratulate  Fet  on  having  become  a 
landed  proprietor : 

How  long  it  is  since  we  met,  and  how  much  has  happened 
to  both  of  us  meanwhile !  I  do  not  know  how  to  rejoice 
•ufEciently  when  I  hear  or  think  of  your  activity  as  a  farmer, 

214 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  215 

and  I  am  rather  proud  to  have  had  at  least  some  hand  in  the 
matter.  ...  It  is  good  to  have  a  friend  ;  but  he  may  die  or 
go  away,  or  one  may  not  be  able  to  keep  pace  with  him  ;  but 
Nature,  to  which  one  is  wedded  by  a  Notarial  Deed,  or  to 
which  one  has  been  born  by  inheritance,  is  still  better.  It  is 
one's  own  bit  of  Nature.  She  is  cold,  obdurate,  disdainful  and 
exacting,  but  then  she  is  a  friend  one  does  not  lose  till  death, 
and  even  then  one  will  be  absorbed  into  her.  I  am  however 
at  present  less  devoted  to  this  friend  :  I  have  other  affairs  that 
attract  me  ;  yet  but  for  the  consciousness  that  she  is  there, 
and  that  if  I  stumble  she  is  at  hand  to  hold  on  to — life  would 
be  but  a  sad  business. 


A  few  davs  later,  having  received  an  invitation  from 
Tourgenef,  Tolstoy  paid  him  a  visit  the  first  hours  of  which 
passed  off  to  their  mutual  satisfaction.  Tourgenef  had 
just  finished  his  favourite  novel,  Fathers  and  Sons,  and  it 
was  arranged  that  after  dinner  Tolstoy  was  to  read  it  and 
give  his  opinion  on  it.  To  do  this  the  more  comfortably, 
Tolstoy,  left  in  the  drawing-room  by  himself,  lay  down  on 
a  large  sofa.  He  began  to  read  ;  but  the  story  seemed  to 
him  so  artificially  constructed  and  so  unimportant  in  its 
subject-matter,  that  he  fell  fast  asleep. 

*  I  awoke,""  he  narrates, '  with  a  strange  sensation,  and  when 
I  opened  my  eyes  I  saw  Tourgenefs  back  just  disappearing.' 

In  spite  of  this  occurrence  and  the  unpleasant  feeling  it 
occasioned,  the  two  novelists  set  out  next  morning  to  visit 
Fet,  who  was  not  expecting  them  that  day. 

While  the  visitors  rested  for  a  couple  of  hours,  recover- 
ing from  the  fatigue  of  their  journey,  Mrs.  Fet  saw  to  it 
that  the  dinner  assumed  '  a  more  substantial  and  inviting 
appearance.'  During  the  meal  the  whole  party  began  an 
animated  conversation,  and  Tourgenef,  always  fond  of 
good  eating,  fully  appreciated  the  efforts  Fefs  excellent 
man-cook  had  made.  Champagne  flowed,  as  was  usual  at 
such  reunions.  After  dinner  the  three  friends  strolled 
to  a  wood  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  from  the  house,  and 


216  LEO  TOLSTOY 

lying  down  in  the  high  grass  at  its  outskirts,  continued 
their  talk  with  yet  more  freedom  and  animation. 

Next  morning  at  the  usual  breakfast  time,  about  eight 
o'clock,  the  visitors  entered  the  room  where  Mrs.  Fet 
presided  at  the  samovar.  Fet  sat  at  the  opposite  end 
of  the  table,  Tourgenef  at  the  hostess'^,  right  hand,  and 
Tolstoy  at  her  left.  Knowing  the  importance  Tourgenef 
attached  to  the  education  of  his  natural  daughter,  who 
was  being  brought  up  in  France,  Mrs.  Fet  inquired 
whether  he  was  satisfied  with  her  English  governess. 
Tourgenef  praised  the  latter  highly,  and  mentioned  that, 
with  English  exactitude,  she  had  requested  him  to  fix 
the  sum  his  daughter  might  give  away  in  charity.  '  And 
now,'  added  Tourgenef,  '  she  requires  my  daughter  to  take 
in  hand  and  mend  the  tattered  clothes  of  the  poor.' 

To  Tolstoy,  the  foreign  education  Tourgenef  was  giving 
his  daughter,  who  was  quite  forgetting  her  own  language, 
was  very  distasteful  ;  and  his  feeling  no  doubt  showed 
itself  in  his  question  : 

'  And  you  consider  that  good  ? ' 

'  Certainly :  it  places  the  doer  of  charity  in  touch  with 
everyday  needs.' 

'  And  I  consider  that  a  well-dressed  girl  with  dirty, 
ill-smelling  rags  on  her  lap,  is  acting  an  insincere, 
theatrical  farce.' 

'  I  beg  you  not  to  say  that ! '  exclaimed  Tourgenef, 
with  dilated  nostrils. 

'  Why  should  I  not  say  what  T  am  convinced  is  true  ? ' 
replied  Tolstoy. 

'  Then  you  consider  that  I  educate  my  daughter  badly  ? ' 

Tolstoy  replied  that  his  thought  corresponded  to  his  speech. 

Before  Fet  could  interpose,  Tourgenef,  white  with  rage, 
exclaimed  :  '  If  you  speak  in  that  way  I  will  punch  your 
head  ! '  and,  jumping  up  from  the  table  and  seizing  his 
head  in  his  hands,  he  rushed  into  the  next  room.  A 
second  later  he  returned  and,  addressing  Mrs.  Fet,  said : 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  217 

*  For  heaven's  sake  excuse  my  improper  conduct,  which  I 
deeply  regret ! '  and  again  left  the  room. 

Fet,  realising  the  impossibility  of  keeping  his  visitors 
together  after  what  had  happened,  was  perplexed  what  to 
do,  for  they  had  both  arrived  in  Tourge'nefs  vehicle,  and, 
newly  established  in  the  country,  Fet,  though  he  had 
horses,  had  none  accustomed  to  be  driven  in  the  only 
conveyance  he  possessed.  To  get  Tourgenef  off  was  easy  ; 
but  it  was  not  without  some  difficulty  and  even  danger  from 
the  restive  horses,  that  Tolstoy  was  conveyed  to  the  nearest 
post-station  at  which  a  hired  conveyance  could  be  procured. 

From  Novoselok,  the  first  country  house  Tolstoy 
reached,  he  wrote  Tourgenef  a  letter  demanding  an 
apology ;  and  asked  for  an  answer  to  be  sent  to  the  next 
post-house  at  Bogouslaf.  Tourge'nef,  not  noticing  this 
request,  sent  his  reply  to  Fefs  house,  in  consequence  of 
which  it  was  several  hours  late  in  reaching  Tolstoy — who 
was  so  enraged  at  this  (as  it  seemed  to  him)  fresh  act  of 
discourtesy,  that  from  Bogouslaf  he  sent  a  messenger  to 
procure  pistols,  and  wrote  a  second  letter  containing  a 
challenge  to  Tourgenef,  and  stating  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  fight  in  a  merely  formal  manner,  like  literary  men  who 
finish  up  with  champagne,  but  that  he  was  in  earnest, 
and  hoped  Tourgenef  would  meet  him  with  pistols  at  the 
outskirt  of  the  Bogouslaf  woods. 

That  night  was  a  sleepless  one  for  Tolstoy.  The  morning 
brought  Tourgenef 's  reply  to  his  first  letter.  It  commenced 
in  the  usual  formal  manner  of  polite  communications : 

Gracious  Sir,  Leo  NikolIvevitch  ! — In  reply  to  your  letter, 
I  can  only  repeat,  what  I  myself  considered  it  my  duty  to 
announce  to  you  at  Fet's :  namely,  that  carried  away  by  a 
feeling  of  involuntary  enmity,  the  causes  of  which  need  not 
here  be  considered,  I  insulted  you  without  any  definite  pro- 
vocation ;  and  I  asked  your  pardon.  What  happened  this 
morning  proved  clearly  that  attempts  at  intimacy  between  such 
opposite  natures  as  yours  and  mine  can  lead  to  no  good  result ; 


218  LEO  TOLSTOY 

and  I  the  more  readily  fulfil  my  duty  to  you,  because  the  present 
letter  probably  terminates  our  relations  with  one  another. 
I  heartily  hope  it  may  satisfy  you,  and  I  consent  in  advance  to 
your  making  what  use  you  please  of  it. 

With  perfect  respect,  I  have  the  honour  to  remain.  Gracious 
Sir,  your  most  humble  servant,  Iv.  Tourgenef. 

SpissKY,  27  May  1861. 
P.S,   10.30  P.M. : 

Ivan  Petr6vitch  has  just  brought  back  my  letter,  which  my 
servant  stupidly  sent  to  Novoselok  instead  of  to  Bogouslaf.  I 
humbly  beg  you  to  excuse  this  accidental  and  regrettable  mis- 
take, and  I  hope  my  messenger  will  still  find  you  at  Bogouslaf. 

Tolstoy  thereupon  wrote  to  Fet : 

I  could  not  resist  opening  another  letter  from  Mr.  Tourgenef 
in  reply  to  mine.  I  wish  you  well  of  your  relations  with  that 
man,  but  I  despise  him.  I  have  written  to  him,  and  therewith 
have  terminated  all  relations,  except  that  I  hold  myself  ready  to 
give  him  any  satisfaction  he  may  desire.  Notwithstanding  all 
my  apparent  tranquillity,  I  was  disturbed  in  spirit  and  felt  I  must 
demand  a  more  explicit  apology  from  Mr.  Tourgenef;  I  did 
this  in  my  I'^'Ler  from  Novoselok.  Here  is  his  answer,  which 
I  accept  as  satisfactory,  merely  informing  him  that  my  reason 
for  excusing  him  is  not  our  opposite  natures,  but  one  he  may 
himself  surmise. 

In  consequence  of  the  delay  which  occurred,  I  sent  besides 
this,  another  letter,  harsh  enough  and  containing  a  challenge, 
to  which  I  have  not  received  any  reply ;  but  should  I  receive 
one  I  shall  return  it  unopened.  So  there  is  an  end  of  that  sad 
story,  which,  if  it  goes  beyond  your  house,  should  do  so  with 
this  addendum. 

Tourgenef  s  reply  to  the  challenge  came  to  hand  later, 
and  ran  as  follows  : 

Your  servant  says  you  desire  a  reply  to  your  letter ;  but  I 
do  not  see  what  I  can  add  to  what  I  have  already  written; 
unless  it  be  that  I  admit  your  right  to  demand  satisfaction, 
weapons  in  hand.  You  have  preferred  to  accept  my  spoken 
and  repeated  apology.     That  was  as  you  pleased.     I  will  say 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  219 

without  phrases,  that  I  would  willingly  stand  your  fire  in  order 
to  efface  my  truly  insane  words.  That  I  should  have  uttered 
them  is  so  unlike  the  habits  of  my  whole  life,  that  I  can  only 
attribute  my  action  to  irritability  evoked  by  the  extreme  and 
constant  antagonism  of  our  views.  This  is  not  an  apology — I 
mean  to  say,  not  a  justification — but  an  explanation.  And 
therefore,  at  parting  from  you  for  ever — for  such  occurrences 
are  indelible  and  irrevocable — I  consider  it  my  duty  to  repeat 
once  again  that  in  this  affair  you  were  in  the  right  and  I  in  the 
wrong.  I  add  that  what  is  here  in  question  is  not  the  courage  I 
wish,  or  do  not  wish,  to  show,  but  an  acknowledgment  of  your 
right  to  call  me  out  to  fight,  in  the  accepted  manner  of  course 
(with  seconds),  as  well  as  your  right  to  pardon  me.  You  have 
chosen  as  you  pleased,  and  I  have  only  to  submit  to  your  decision, 
I  renew  my  assurance  of  my  entire  respect,      Iv.  Tourgenef. 

The  quarrel  was  not,  however,  destined  to  die  out  so 
quickly.  Even  good-natured  Fet  got  into  trouble  by 
trying  to  reconcile  the  irascible  novelists.  Here  is  one 
of  the  notes  he  received  from  Tolstoy  : 

I  request  you  not  to  write  to  me  again,  as  I  shall  return 
your  letters,  as  well  as  Tourgenef's,  unopened. 

Fet  remarks :  '  So  all  my  attempts  to  put  the  matter 
right  ended  in  a  formal  rupture  of  my  relations  with 
Tolstoy,  and  I  cannot  now  even  remember  how  friendly 
intercourse  between  us  was  renewed.' 

Before  four  months  had  passed,  Tolstoy  repented  him 
of  his  quarrel.  Like  Prince  Nehliidof  in  Resurrection,  he 
used  from  time  to  time  to  repent  of  all  his  sins  and  all 
his  quarrels,  and  undertook  a  sort  of  spring-  or  autumn- 
cleaning  of  his  soul.  It  was  at  such  a  moment  that,  on 
25th  September,  he  wrote  to  Tourgenef  expressing  regret 
that  their  relations  to  one  another  were  hostile,  and  he 
added  :  *  If  I  have  insulted  you,  forgive  me ;  I  find  it 
unendurably  hard  to  think  I  have  an  enemy.'  Not  knowing 
Tourgenef's  address  in  France,  he  sent  this  letter  to  a 
bookseller  in  Petersburg  (with  whom  he  knew  Tourgenef 


220  LEO  TOLSTOY 

corresponded)  to  be  forwarded.  The  letter  took  more 
than  three  months  to  reach  its  destination,  nor  was 
this  the  only  thing  that  went  wrong,  as  is  shown  by  the 
following  portion  of  a  letter,  dated  8th  November,  from 
Tourgenef  to  Fet : 

Apropos, '  one  more  last  remark '  about  the  unfortunate  affair 
with  Tolstoy.  Passing  through  Petersburg  I  learned  from 
certain  '  reliable  people '  (Oh,  those  reliable  people !)  that 
copies  of  Tolstoy's  last  letter  to  me  (the  letter  in  which  he 
'  despises  '  me)  are  circulating  in  Moscow,  and  are  said  to  have 
been  distributed  by  Tolstoy  himself.  That  enraged  me,  and 
I  sent  him  a  challenge  to  fight  when  I  return  to  Russia.  Tol- 
stoy has  answered  that  the  circulation  of  the  copies  is  pure 
invention,  and  he  encloses  another  letter  in  which,  recapitu- 
lating that,  and  how,  I  insulted  him,  he  asks  my  forgiveness 
and  declines  my  challenge.  Of  course  the  matter  must 
end  there,  and  I  will  only  ask  you  to  tell  him  (for  he  writes 
that  he  will  consider  any  fresh  communication  from  me  to  him 
as  an  insult)  that  I  myself  repudiate  any  duel,  etc.,  and  hope 
the  whole  matter  is  buried  for  ever.  His  letter  (apologising) 
I  have  destroyed.  Another  letter,  which  he  says  he  sent  me 
through  the  bookseller  Davidof,  I  never  received.  And  now^ 
as  to  the  whole  matter — de  profundis. 

Tolstoy  noted  in  his  Diary  one  day  in  October : 
Yesterday  I  received  a  letter  from  Tourgenef  in  which  he 
accuses  me  of  saying  he  is  a  coward  and  of  circulating  copies 
of  my  letter.  I  have  written  him  that  it  is  nonsense,  and 
I  have  also  sent  him  a  letter :  '  You  call  my  action  dishonour- 
able and  you  formerly  wished  to  punch  my  head ;  but  I  con- 
sider myself  guilty,  ask  pardon,  and  refuse  the  challenge.' 

Even  then  the  matter  was  not  at  an  end,  for  on 
7th  January  [new  style  ?^  Tourgenef  writes  to  Fet : 

And  now  a  plain  question  :  Have  you  seen  Tolstoy  .''  I  have 
only  to-day  received  the  letter  he  sent  me  in  September 
through  Davidof 's  bookshop  (how  accurate  are  our  Russian  mer- 
chants !).  In  this  letter  he  speaks  of  his  intention  to  insult  me, 
and  apologises,  etc.     And  almost  at  that  very  time,  in  con- 


YASNAYA  rOLYANA  221 

sequence  of  some  gossip  about  which  I  think  I  wrote  yoii, 
I  sent  him  a  challenge.  From  all  this  one  must  conclude  that 
our  constellations  move  through  space  in  definitely  hostile  con- 
junction, and  that  therefore  we  had  better,  as  he  himself  says, 
avoid  meeting.  But  you  may  write  or  tell  him  (if  you  see  him) 
that  I  (without  phrase  or  joke)  froiyi  nfar  love  him  very  much, 
respect  him  and  watch  his  fate  with  sympathetic  interest ;  but 
that  in  proximity  all  takes  a  different  turn.  What 's  to  be  done  ? 
We  must  live  as  though  we  inhabited  different  planets  or 
different  centuries. 

Tolstoy  evidently  took  umbrage  at  Tourgenefs  message, 
and  visited  his  wrath  on  Fefs  innocent  head.  To  be  pro- 
foundly humble  and  forgiving  at  his  own  command,  was 
always,  it  seems,  easier  for  Tolstoy  than  to  let  his  opponent 
have  an  opinion  of  his  own.  Tolstoy  likes  things  to  be 
quite  clear-cut  and  definite,  and  it  complicates  matters  to 
have  to  reckon  with  any  one  else's  views.  At  any  rate 
Tourgenef  writes  : 

Paris,  14  Jan.  [o.s.?]  1862 

Dearest  AfanIsy  AfanAsyevitch  !  [Fet's  Christian  name 
and  patronymic]. — First  of  all  I  must  ask  your  pardon  for  the 
quite  unexpected  tile  {iuile,  as  the  French  say)  that  tumbled 
on  your  head  as  a  result  of  my  letter.  The  one  thing  which 
somewhat  consoles  me  is  that  I  could  not  possibly  have 
expected  such  a  freak  on  Tolstoy's  part,  and  thought  I  was 
arranging  all  for  the  best.  It  seems  it  is  a  wound  of  a  kind 
better  not  touched  at  all. 

To  judge  the  relations  between  these  two  great  writers 
fairly,  one  must  remember  that  Tourgenef  was  ten  years 
the  elder  and,  until  War  and  Peace  appeared,  ranked 
higher  in  popular  esteem ;  yet  Tolstoy  showed  him  no 
deference,  but  on  the  contrary  often  attacked  him  and 
his  views  with  mordant  irony.  Tourgenef  was  neither  ill- 
natured  nor  quarrelsome.  If  Tolstoy  had  treated  him  with 
consideration  or  had  been  willing  to  let  him  alone,  there 
would  have  been  no  question  either  of  insult  or  of  challenge. 
But  the  younger  man  sought  the  elder's  company,  and  then 


222  LEO  TOLSTOY 

made  himself  disagreeable ;  and  this,  not  of  malice  pre- 
pense, but  because  it  is  his  nature  to  demand  perfection 
from  great  men,  and  vehemently  to  attack  those  who  fail 
to  reach  the  standard  he  sets  up.  This  conduct  was  no 
doubt  all  the  more  trying  for  Tourgenef,  because  Tolstoy 
neither  co-operated  with  the  Liberal  movement  then  current, 
nor  lived  more  abstemiously  with  regard  to  food,  wine, 
women,  and  cards  than  others  of  his  set  whom  he  scolded  ; 
or  if  he  did  so,  he  did  it  so  spasmodically  and  with  such 
serious  lapses,  as  to  be  little  entitled  to  condemn  others 
with  the  fervour  he  frequently  displayed.  On  the  occasion 
of  the  great  quarrel  Tourgenef  was  certainly  the  aggressor, 
and  his  prompt  apology  was  not  addressed  to  Tolstoy, 
whom  he  had  chiefly  offended,  but  to  Mrs.  Fet.  It  is, 
however,  plain  that  he  acted,  as  he  said,  on  the  irritable 
impulse  of  the  moment.  Tolstoy  aggravated  matters  by 
sending  a  challenge  before  receiving  a  reply  to  his  first 
letter,  and  also  by  suggesting  that  he  despised  Tourgenef 
and  pardoned  him  for  reasons  '  he  may  himself  surmise.'' 
Again,  in  relation  to  Fet,  who  merely  wished  to  pour  oil  on 
the  troubled  waters,  Tolstoy  showed  a  strange  irritability. 
No  one  however  can  read  the  Recollections  Fet  wrote 
thirty  years  later,  without  seeing  that  that  poet — who  not 
only  witnessed  this  affair,  but  had  been  the  confidant  of 
both  writers  for  years — respected  Tolstoy  far  more  than  he 
respected  Tourgenef. 

In  this  whole  story,  one  may  detect  traces  of  the  quali- 
ties which  have  made  Tolstoy  so  interesting  and  so  per- 
plexing a  personality.  He  cares  intensely  about  everything 
with  which  he  is  occupied.  Tourgenef,  and  Tourgenefs 
opinions  and  conduct,  were  of  tremendous  importance  to 
him.  So  were  his  own  views  of  how  vouiis  ladies  should 
be  brought  up.  So  was  the  question  whether  he  ought  to 
challenge  his  enemy  ;  and,  later  on,  the  question  whether  he 
ought  to  forgive  him,  and  whether  Fet  should  be  allowed  to 
act  as  mediator.    It  is  this  fact — that  he  cares  about  things 


YASNAYA  POLY  ANA  223 

a  hundred  times  more  than  other  people  care  about  them 
— that  makes  Tolstoy  a  genius  and  a  great  writer.  What 
was  admirable  in  his  conduct  was  not  that  he  acted  well 
(as  a  matter  of  fact  he  acted  very  badly)  but  that  he  wished 
to  act  well. 

The  same  spirit  which  made  him  so  intolerant  with 
Tourgenef :  his  strong  feeling  that  '  To  whom  much  is 
given,  of  him  much  shall  be  required ' — had  something 
to  do,  later  in  life,  with  his  fierce  attacks  on  Govern- 
ments, on  Shakespear,  on  Wagner,  and  on  other  great 
institutions  and  men.  At  the  same  time,  the  incident 
throws  light  on  that  side  of  Tolstoy's  character  which  has 
brought  it  about  that,  despite  the  very  real  charm  he 
possesses,  and  despite  the  fact  that  many  men  and  women 
have  been  immensely  attracted  by  his  writings,  he  has  had 
very  few  intimate  friends,  and  has  constantly  been  mis- 
understood. 

V.  P.  Bdtkin,  who  was  in  t(  dch  both  with  Tolstoy  and 
Tourgenef,  wrote  to  Fet  after  hearing  of  the  quarrel : 

The  scene  between  him  [Tourgenef]  and  Tolstoy  at  your 
housCj  produced  on  me  a  sad  impression.  But  do  you  know^ 
I  believe  that  in  reality  Tolstoy  has  a  passionately  loving  soul  ; 
only  he  wants  to  love  Tourgenef  ardently^  and  unfortunately 
his  impulsive  feeling  encounters  merely  mild,  good-natured  in- 
difference. That  is  what  he  cannot  reconcile  himself  to.  And 
then  (again  unfortunately)  his  mind  is  in  a  chaos,  i.e.  I  wish  to 
say  it  has  not  yet  reached  any  definite  outlook  on  life  and  the 
world's  affairs.  That  is  why  his  conviction  changes  so  often,  and 
why  he  is  so  apt  to  run  to  extremes.  His  soul  bums  with  un- 
quenchable thirst;  I  say  'unquenchable,'  because  what  satisfied  it 
yesterday,  is  to-day  broken  up  by  his  analysis.  But  that  analysis 
has  no  durable  and  firm  reagents,  and  consequently  its  results 
evaporate  ins  blaiie  hinein.  Without  some  firm  ground  under 
one's  feet  it  is  impossible  to  write.  And  that  is  why  at  present 
he  cannot  write,  and  this  will  continue  to  be  the  case  till  his 
soul  finds  something  on  which  it  can  rest. 


224  LEO  TOLSTOY 

To  any  one  acquainted  with  the  history  of  Russia  at 
that  period,  but  not  acquainted  with  Tolstoy"'s  idiosyn- 
crasies, it  must  indeed  seem  strange  that  the  story  of  his 
life  can  be  told  with  so  little  reference  to  the  Emancipation 
or  the  Reform  movements  of  the  years  1860-1864,  to  which 
allusion  has  already  been  made.  Two  passages  written 
by  him  in  1904  state  his  relation  to  those  movements 
with  the  sincerity  which  is  so  prominent  and  valuable 
a  feature  of  his  character  : 

As  to  my  attitude  at  that  time  to  the  excited  condition 
of  our  whole  society,  I  must  say  (and  this  is  a  good  and  bad 
trait  always  characteristic  of  me)  that  I  always  involuntarily 
opposed  any  external,  epidemic  pressure;  and  that  if  I  was 
excited  and  happy  at  that  time,  this  proceeded  from  my  own 
personal,  inner  motives :  those  which  drew  me  to  my  school 
work  and  into  touch  with  the  peasants. 

I  recognise  in  myself  now  the  same  feeling  of  resistance 
to  the  excitement  at  present  prevailing ;  which  resembles  that 
which,  in  a  more  timid  form,  was  then  current. 

When  the  Emancipation  came,  the  peasants  received 
freedom,  and  an  allotment  of  land,  subject  to  a  special 
land-tax  for  sixty  years ;  while  their  masters  retained  the 
rest  of  the  land  and  received  State  Bonds  for  the  capitalised 
value  of  the  peasants'  land-tax.  An  expedient  resorted  to 
by  many  a  proprietor  was,  to  allot  land  to  the  peasants  in 
such  a  way  that  the  latter  were  left  without  any  pasture, 
and  (being  surrounded  by  the  vner's  estate)  found  them- 
selves obliged  to  hire  pasture  land  of  him  on  his  own  terms. 
There  were,  till  the  Emancipation,  two  ways  of  holding 
serfs:  (1)  the  primitive  way  of  obliging  them  to  woi'k 
so  many  days  a  v.  :ek  for  their  master,  before  they  could, 
on  the  other  days,  provide  for  their  own  wants ;  and  (2) 
another  way,  which  left  the  serf  free  to  work  for  himself, 
provided  that  he  paid  ohrolc,  i.e.  a  certain  yearly  tribute  to 
his  owner.  These  explanations  will  render  intelligible  the 
second  passage  referred  to  above  and  quoted  below  : 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  225 

Some  three  or  four  years  before  the  Emancipation^  I  let  my 
serfs  go  on  obrok.  When  complying  with  the  Emancipation 
Decree  I  arranged,  as  the  law  required,  to  leave  the  peasants 
in  possession  of  the  land  they  were  cultivating  on  their  own 
behalf,  which  amounted  to  rather  less  than  eight  acres  per  head, 
and  (to  my  shame  be  it  said)  I  added  nothing  thereto.  The 
only  thing  I  did — or  the  one  evil  I  refrained  from  doing — was 
that  I  abstained  from  obliging  the  peasants  to  exchange  land 
(as  I  was  advised  to  do)  and  left  them  in  possession  of  the 
pasture  they  needed.  In  general,  however,  I  did  not  show  any 
disinterested  feeling  in  the  affair. 

In  the  first  edition  of  Tolstoy  and  his  Problems  I 
erroneously  stated  that  Tolstoy,  before  the  Decree  of 
Emancipation,  voluntarily  freed  his  serfs  ;  and  though  this 
was  corrected  in  the  second  edition,  it  is  necessary  to 
repeat  the  correction  here,  as  the  same  mistake  occurs  in 
the  article  on  Tolstoy  in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica.  I 
therefore  quote  the  following  passage  from  a  letter  he 
wrote  me  on  the  subject : 

I  have  received  your  book  and  read  it  with  pleasure.  The 
short  biography  is  excellent,  except  the  place  where  you,  quot- 
ing the  words  of  Sophia  Andreyevna,  say  that  '  he  liberated  his 
peasants  before  the  Emancipation.'  That  is  wrong  :  I  placed 
them  on  obrok  instead  of  keeping  them  on  bdrstckvia  [i.e.  the 
state  in  which  the  peasants  rendered  labour  dues].  It  would 
not  have  been  possible  to  emancipate  them.  .  .  . 

Tolstoy's  curious  tendency  to  underrate  the  influence  of 
the  Liberal  reformers  of  that  time,  may  be  illustrated  by 
an  incident  that  occurred  at  a  dinner  in  Toula. 
The  local  elections  had  taken  place,  and  a  public 
banquet  was  given  in  honour  of  those  Arbiters  of  the 
Peace  who  were  visiting  the  town.  Tolstoy  was  at  this 
dinner,  and  when  the  toast  to  the  health  of  Alexander  II, 
the  '  Tsar- Liberator,'  was  proposed,  Tolstoy  remarked  to 
his  neighbour  :  '  I  drink  this  toast  with  particular  pleasure, 

p 


226  LEO  TOLSTOY 

No  others  are  needed,  for  in  reality  we  owe  the  Emancipa- 
tion to  the  Emperor  alone.' 

A  yet  more  curious  instance  of  the  same  tendency  occurs 
in  an  article  on  Progress,  and  the  Dejinition  of'  Education, 
which  he  published  a  year  later,  and  in  which,  arguing  that 
printing  has  been  of  little  use  to  the  people,  he  says 
that : 

Even  taking  as  an  example  the  abolition  of  serfdom,  I  do 
not  see  that  printing  helped  the  solution  of  the  problem  in  a 
progressive  sense.  Had  the  Government  not  said  its  decisive 
word  in  that  affair,  the  press  would,  beyond  a  doubt,  have 
explained  matters  in  quite  a  different  way  to  what  it  did.  We 
saw  that  most  of  the  periodicals  would  have  demanded  the 
emancipation  of  the  peasants  without  any  land,  and  would  have 
produced  arguments  apparently  just  as  reasonable,  witty  and 
sarcastic  [as  they  actually  produced  in  favour  of  the  more 
Liberal  solution  ultimately  adopted].  .  .  . 

If,  however,  Tolstoy  did  not  stand  in  the  ranks  of  the 
Reformers,  he  was  much  less  of  a  partisan  of  his  own  class 
than  many  of  his  fellow-nobles  desired  ;  and  we  find  the 
Marshal  of  the  Nobility  of  Toula  writing  to  Valouef, 
Minister  of  Home  Affairs,  complaining  of  Tolstoy's  appoint- 
ment as  Arbiter  of  the  Peace  on  the  ground  that  he  was 
disliked  by  the  neighbouring  landowners.  In  consequence 
of  this  complaint  Valouef  made  inquiries,  and  received  a 
'  confidential '  reply  from  the  Governor  of  the  Province, 
stating  that : 

Knowing  Count  Tolstoy  personally,  as  an  educated  man 
warmly  sympathising  with  the  matter  in  hand,  and  in  view  of 
a  wish  expressed  to  me  by  some  of  the  proprietors  of  the 
district  that  he  should  be  appointed  Arbiter,  I  cannot  replace 
him  by  some  one  I  do  not  know. 

Tolstoy  tried  his  best  to  act  fairly  between  peasants  and 
landowners ;  but  from  the  start  his  unsuitability  for  duties 
involving  methodical  care  was  obvious. 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  227 

The  very  first  '  charter,'  regulating  the  relations  between 
a  landlord  and  his  newly-liberated  peasants,  that  he  sent 
up  to  the  Government  Board  for  Peasant  Affairs,  was 
signed  as  follows :  '  At  the  request  of  such-and-such 
peasants,  because  of  their  illiteracy,  the  house-serf  so-and-so 
has  signed  this  charter  for  them.'  Not  a  single  name  did 
the  charter  contain  !  As  Tolstov  had  dictated  the  words, 
so  his  servant  had  written  them  down,  and  the  charter  had 
been  sealed  and  sent  off  without  being  read  over. 

He  could  at  times  be  wonderfully  patient  in  dealing 
with  the  peasants,  though  they  were  exasperatingly  perti- 
nacious in  demanding  more  than  it  was  possible  to  grant. 
An  eye-witness  tells  how  Tolstoy  visited  a  neighbouring 
estate  on  which  differences  had  arisen  between  the  peasants 
and  their  former  master,  as  to  the  land  which  should  be 
allotted  to  them.  Tolstoy  received  a  deputation,  consist- 
ing of  three  of  the  leading  peasants  of  the  village,  and 
asked  them  : 

'  Well,  lads,  what  do  you  want .? ' 

They  explained  what  land  they  wished  to  have,  and 
Tolstoy  replied,  '  I  am  very  sorry  I  can't  do  what  you 
wish.  Were  I  to  do  so  I  should  cause  your  landlord  a 
great  loss  ' ;  and  he  proceeded  to  explain  to  them  how  the 
matter  stood. 

'  But  you  '11  manage  it  for  us  somehow,  hatusKka ' 
[literally,  '  little-father '],  said  the  peasants. 

'  No,  I  can't  do  anything  of  the  kind,'  repeated  Tolstoy. 

The  peasants  glanced  at  one  another,  scratched  their 
heads,  and  reiterated  their  '  But  somehow,  hatushka  ! '  and 
one  of  them  added,  '  If  only  you  want  to,  hatushka,  you  '11 
know  how  to  find  a  way  to  do  it ! '  at  which  the  other 
peasants  nodded  their  heads  approvingly. 

Tolstoy  crossed  himself,  as  orthodox  Russians  are  wont 
to  do,  and  said  :  '  As  God  is  holy,  I  swear  that  I  can  be  of 
no  use  at  all  to  you.'  But  still  the  peasants  repeated  : 
'  You  '11  take  pity  on  us,  and  do  it  somehow,  baiushka  ! ' 


228  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Tolstoy  at  last  turned  vehemently  to  the  steward,  who 
was  present,  and  said  :  '  One  can  sooner,  like  Ampliion, 
move  the  hills  and  woods,  than  convince  peasants  of  any- 
thing ! ' 

The  whole  conversation,  says  the  steward,  lasted  more 
than  an  hour,  and  up  to  the  last  minute  the  Count  retained 
his  patient  and  friendly  manner  towards  the  peasants. 
Their  obstinacy  did  not  provoke  him  to  utter  a  single 
harsh  word. 

With  the  landowners  Tolstoy  had  even  more  trouble 
than  with  the  peasants.  He  received  many  threatening 
letters,  plans  were  formed  to  have  him  beaten,  he  was  to 
have  been  challenged  to  a  duel  ;  and  denunciations  against 
him  were  sent  to  those  in  authority. 

After  some  three  months  of  the  work,  in  July  1861,  he 
jotted  down  in  his  Diary  :  *  Arbitration  has  given  me  but 
little  material  [for  literary  work],  has  brought  me  into 
conflict  with  all  the  landed-proprietors,  and  has  upset  my 
health.' 

Here  is  a  sample  of  the  cases  he  had  to  deal  with.  A 
Mrs.  Artukdf  complained  that  a  certain  Mark  Grigdref 
(who  had  been  a  house-serf,  and  was  therefore  not  entitled 
to  land)  had  left  her,  considering  himself  to  be  '  perfectly 
free.' 

Tolstoy,  in  his  reply  to  the  lady,  said : 

Mark,  by  my  order,  is  at  liberty  to  go  immediately,  with  his 
wife,  where  he  likes ;  and  I  beg  you  (1)  to  compensate  him  for 
the  three-and-a-half  months  he  has  been  illegally  kept  at  work 
by  you  since  the  Decree  was  published,  and  (2)  for  the  blows 
still  more  illegally  inflicted  on  his  wife.  If  my  decision  dis- 
pleases you,  you  have  a  right  of  appeal  to  the  Magistrates* 
Sessions  and  to  the  Government  Sessions.  I  shall  not  enter 
into  further  explanations  on  this  subject. — With  entire  respect 
I  have  the  honour  to  remain,  your  humble  servant, 

C-  L.  Tolstoy. 

The  lady   appealed    to   the    Magistrates'  Sessions,  and 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  229 

Tolstoy's  decision  was  annulled ;  but  on  the  case  being 
carried  to  the  Government  Sessions,  his  view  of  the  case 
prevailed. 

Before  he  had  been  a  year  in  office  we  find  him  writing 
to  the  Government  of  the  Toiila  Board  of  Peasant  Affairs 
as  follows : 

As  the  complaints  [here  follows  a  list  of  several  cases]  lodged 
against  my  decisions  have  no  legal  justification,  but  yet  in 
these  and  many  other  cases  my  decisions  have  been  and  are 
being  repealed,  so  that  almost  every  decision  I  give  is  subse- 
quently reversed;  and  as  under  such  conditions — destructive 
both  of  the  peasants'  and  the  landowners'  confidence  in  the 
Arbiter — the  latter's  activity  becomes  not  merely  useless  but 
impossible,  I  humbly  request  the  Government  Board  to  authorise 
one  of  its  members  to  hasten  the  examination  of  the  above- 
mentioned  appeals,  and  I  have  to  inform  the  Government 
Board  that  until  such  investigations  are  completed  I  do  not 
consider  it  proper  that  I  should  exercise  the  duties  of 
my  office,  which  I  have,  therefore,  handed  over  to  the  senior 
Candidate. 

The  following  month  he  resumed  official  work,  but  six 
weeks  later,  on  30th  April  1862,  on  the  score  of  ill-health, 
he  handed  the  duties  over  to  a  substitute  ;  and  on  26th 
May — about  a  year  after  he  had  first  assumed  the  office — 
the  Senate  informed  the  Governor  of  Toula  that  it  '  had 
decided  to  discharge  the  Lieutenant  of  Artillery,  Count 
Leo  Tolstoy,  on  the  ground  of  ill-health  '  from  the  post 
of  Arbiter  of  the  Peace. 

His  unsatisfactory  experience  of  administrative  work  no 
doubt  helps  to  account  for  the  anti-Governmental  bias 
shown  in  his  later  works.  Even  at  this  time,  he  quite 
shared  the  dislike  of  civil  and  criminal  law  expressed  by 
Rousseau  when  he  wrote  in  his  Confession: 

The  justice  and  the  inutility  of  my  appeals  left  in  my  mind 
a  germ  of  indignation  against  our  stupid  civil  institutions,  in 
which  the  true  welfare  of  the  public,  and  veritable  justice,  are 


230  LEO  TOLSTOY 

always  sacrificed  to  I  know  not  what  apparent  order,  really 
destructive  of  all  order^  and  which  merely  adds  the  sanction  of 
public  authority  to  the  oppression  of  the  weak  and  the  iniquity 
of  the  strong. 

We  may  at  any  rate  be  sure  that  tiresome,  petty  admini- 
strative work,  never  quite  satisfactory,  but  at  best  consist- 
ing of  compromises  and  of  decisions  based  on  necessity 
rather  than  on  such  principles  of  abstract  justice  as  are 
dear  to  Tolstoy's  soul,  could  never  be  an  occupation  satis- 
factory to  him.  He  has  not  the  plodding  patience  and 
studious  moderation  that  such  work  demands  ;  nor  could 
his  impulsive  genius  find  scope  in  it.  It  has  never  been 
easy  for  him  to  be  checked  by  others,  or  to  have  to  reckon 
with  their  opinions  and  wishes.  Like  Rousseau,  it  suits 
him  better  to  reform  the  world  on  paper,  or  even  to  alter 
his  own  personal  habits  of  life,  than  to  concern  himself 
with  the  slow  social  progress,  the  bit-by-bit  amelioration, 
which  alone  is  possible  to  those  harnessed  to  the  car  that 
carries  a  whole  society  of  men. 

Tolstoy  used  at  this  time  to  find  recreation  in  hunting, 
and  often  went  out  for  days  together  with  his  friend  and 
relation  Prince  D.  D.  Obolensky,  who  describes  him  as 
having  been  a  bold  and  active  hunter,  leaping  all  sorts  of 
obstacles,  and  a  wonderful  man  to  talk  to. 

Concurrently  with  his  duties  as  Arbiter,  Tolstoy  had 
been  carrying  on  an  enterprise  in  which  he  had  to  deal 
with  people  younger  and  more  easy  to  mould  than  the 
peasants  and  proprietors  whose  quarrels  he  found  it  so 
hard  to  adjust;  and  during  the  winter  of  1861-1862  he 
devoted  himself  with  especial  fervour  to  the  task  of  edu- 
cating the  peasant  children  of  Yasnaya  and  the  surrounding 
district. 

As  we  have  already  seen,  a  chief  aim  of  his  travels 
abroad  had  been  to  studv  the  theory  and  practice  of  educa- 
tion ;  and  not  only  did  he  now  personally  devote  himself  to 
the  school  at  Yasnaya,  but  in  the  surrounding  neighbourhood 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  231 

eleven  similar  schools  were  soon  started,  all  more  or  less 
inspired  by  his  ideals  and  encouraged  by  his  co-operation. 
The  monthly  magazine,  Yasnaya  Polyana  (now  a  biblio- 
graphical rarity)  which  he  produced  and  edited  during 
1862,  aimed  at  propagating  his  theories  of  education  and 
making  known  the  results  attained  in  his  school,  and  it  also 
contained  an  account  of  sums  voluntarily  contributed 
for  its  support.  From  articles  published  in  it  (and  re- 
published in  his  collected  writings)  we  get  a  vivid  descrip- 
tion of  the  work  carried  on  in  November  and  December 
1861.^  Like  many  Russian  magazines,  Yasnaya  Polyana 
always  appeared  late,  and,  to  begin  with,  the  January 
number  was  several  weeks  behind  time. 

In  this  educational  work,  Tolstoy  showed  the  qualities 
and  limitations  which  in  later  years  marked  all  his  pro- 
pagandist activity.  There  was  the  same  characteristic 
selection  of  a  task  of  great  importance  ;  the  same  readiness 
to  sweep  aside  and  condemn  nearly  all  that  civilised 
humanity  had  accomplished  up  to  then  ;  the  same  assur- 
ance that  he  could  untie  the  Gordian  knot  ;  and  the  same 
power  of  devoted  genius  enabling  him  really  to  achieve 
much  more  than  one  would  have  supposed  possible,  though 
not  a  tithe  of  what  he  set  himself  to  do. 

In  later  life  Tolstoy  laid  no  particular  emphasis  on  what 
he  wrote  in  these  educational  articles  :  in  fact,  we  shall 
find  him  sometimes  speaking  very  scornfully  of  them  ;  but 
they  throw  so  much  light  on  his  then  state  of  mind,  and 
often  come  so  near  to  the  views  he  strongly  advocated 
twenty  or  thirty  years  later,  that  it  will  be  worth  devoting 
a  good  deal  of  attention  to  them. 

Tolstoy,  then,  defines  Education  as  :  a  human  activity, 

*  In  one  edition  after  another  of  Tolstoy's  works,  the  article  referred  to 
above  is  called  '  Yasno-Polyana  School  in  Nov.  and  Dec.  1862,'  though  the 
article  itself  appeared  in  the  first  number  of  Yasnaya  Polyana,  in  February 
of  that  year.  In  small  matters  of  detail  of  this  kind,  Tolstoy  has  always 
been  careless. 


232  LEO  TOLSTOY 

having  for  its  basis  a  desire  for  equality^  and  the  constant 
tendency  to  advance  in  knowledge.  This  he  illustrates  by 
saying  that  the  aim  of  a  teacher  of  arithmetic  should  be  to 
enable  his  pupil  to  grasp  all  the  laws  of  mathematical 
reasoning  he  himself  is  master  of;  the  aim  of  a  teacher  of 
French,  or  chemistry,  or  philosophy,  should  be  similar  ;  and 
as  soon  as  that  aim  is  attained,  the  activity  will  naturally 
cease.  Everyv/here  and  always,  teaching  which  makes  the 
pupil  the  master's  equal,  has  been  considered  good.  The 
more  nearly  and  rapidly  this  is  accomplished,  the  better ;  the 
less  nearly  and  more  slowly  it  is  accomplished,  the  worse. 
Similarly  in  literature  (an  indirect  method  of  teaching) 
those  books  are  written  best,  in  which  the  author  succeeds 
in  transmitting  his  whole  message  most  easily  to  the 
reader. 

By  '  the  constant  tendency  to  advance  in  knowledge,' 
Tolstoy  meant  that  the  equality  aimed  at  in  education  can 
only  be  obtained  on  the  higher,  and  not  on  the  lower, 
level :  that  is  to  say,  not  by  the  teacher  forgetting 
what  he  knows,  but  by  the  pupil  acquiring  the  teacher's 
knowledge.  Much  tuition  however  is  based  not  on 
the  desire  to  equalise  knowledge,  but  on  quite  false 
foundations. 

These  are :  (1)  First  and  commonest,  the  child  learns  in 
order  not  to  be  punished  ;  (2)  the  child  learns  in  order  to 
earn  a  reward  ;  (3)  the  child  learns  in  order  to  be  better 
than  others  ;  (4)  the  child,  or  young  man,  learns  in  order 
to  obtain  an  advantageous  position  in  the  world.   .   .   . 

With  reference  to  the  practice  of  sending  boys  to  school, 
not  for  their  natural  development,  but  that  they  may  be 
moulded  into  a  set  form,  Tolstoy  declares  that  '  Education, 
as  a  deliberate  moulding  of  people  into  certain  forms,  is 
sterilcy  illegitimate,  and  impossible.' 

Of  examinations  he  strongly  disapproves,  as  tending  to 
arbitrariness  on  the  side  of  the  examiners,  and  deception 
on  the  side  of  the  pupils. 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  233 

Under  what  circumstances,  asks  Tolstoy,  can  a  pupil 
acquire  knowledge  most  rapidly  ?  '  A  child  or  a  man  is 
receptive  only  when  he  is  aroused  ;  and  therefore  to  regard 
a  merry  spirit  in  school  as  an  enemy  or  a  hindrance,  is  the 
crudest  of  blunders. 

The  pupiPs  state  of  mind  is  the  most  important  con- 
dition of  successful  education  ;  and  to  secure  good  results, 
freedom  is  indispensable.  No  child  should  be  forced  to 
learn  what  it  does  not  want  to,  or  when  it  does  not 
wish  to. 

One  need  only  glance  at  one  and  the  same  child  at  home  or 
in  the  street,  and  at  school.  Here  you  see  a  vivacious,  inquisi- 
tive being,  with  a  smile  in  his  eye  and  on  his  mouth,  seeking 
information  everywhere  as  a  pleasure,  and  clearly,  and  often 
forcibly,  expressing  his  thoughts  in  his  own  way ;  while  there 
you  see  a  weary,  shrinking  creature  repeating,  merely  with  his 
lips,  some  one  else's  thoughts  in  some  one  else's  words,  with  an 
air  of  fatigue,  fear  and  listlessness :  a  creature  whose  soul  has 
retreated  like  a  snail  into  its  shell.  One  need  but  glance  at 
these  two  conditions  to  see  which  of  them  is  the  more  con- 
ducive to  the  child's  development.  That  strange  physiological 
condition  which  I  call  the  '  School  state  of  mind,'  and  which 
unfortunately  we  all  know  so  well,  consists  in  all  the  higher 
capacities  :  imagination,  creative  power  and  reflection,  yielding 
place  to  a  semi-animal  capacity  to  pronounce  words  without 
imagination  or  reflection. 

When  the  pupils  have  been  reduced  to  this  '  School  state 
of  mind '  we  encounter  those  '  not  accidental,  but  often- 
repeated  cases,'  of  the  stupidest  boy  being  at  the  top  of 
the  class,  and  the  cleverest  boy  at  the  bottom. 

In  short,  a  child's  mental  capacities  are  really  active 
only  when  that  child  is  free ;  and  the  teacher's  chief  task 
lies  '  in  studying  the  free  child '  and  discovering  how  to 
supply  him  with  knowledge.  Therefore  '  the  only  method 
of  education  is  experiment,  and  its  only  criterion  is 
jfreedom.'* 


234  LEO  TOLSTOY 

The  attempts  to  enforce  obedience  and  quiet  in  school- 
rooms, converts  schools  into  places  of  torture  which 
have  a  stupefying  effect,  well  called  by  the  Germans 
Verdurmnen. 

In  Germany  nine-tenths  of  those  who  pass  through  the 
primary  schools  leave  them  possessed  of  an  ability  to  read  and 
write  mechanically,  but  imbued  with  so  strong  a  loathing  for 
the  experience  they  have  had  of  the  paths  of  knowledge,  that 
they  subsequently  never  take  a  book  in  their  hands.  Let 
those  who  doubt  what  I  say,  point  out  to  me  what  books  are 
read  by  the  labourers.  .  .  .  No  one  who  will  seriously  consider 
the  education  of  the  people,  not  only  in  Russia  but  also  in  the 
rest  of  Europe,  can  help  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
people  get  their  mental  development  quite  independently  of  a 
knowledge  of  reading  and  writing,  and  that  usually,  except  in 
a  few  cases  of  exceptional  ability,  these  rudiments  remain  a 
quite  unapplied  art — which  is  even  harmful,  since  nothing  in 
life  can  remain  indifferent.  .  .  . 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

Schools  are  not  so  arranged  as  to  make  it  convenient  for 
children  to  learn,  but  so  as  to  make  it  convenient  for  teachers 
to  teach.  The  voices,  movements  and  mirth  of  the  children, 
which  form  a  necessary  condition  of  their  studying  successfully, 
incommode  the  teachers,  and  therefore  in  the  prison-like 
schools  of  to-day,  questions,  conversation,  and  movement  are 
forbidden. 

Schools  based  on  compulsion,  supply  *  not  a  shepherd  for 
the  flock,  but  a  flock  for  the  shepherd.' 

•  •«••• 

To  deal  successfully  with  any  object,  it  is  necessary  to  study 
it,  and  in  education  the  object  is  a  free  child ;  yet  the  peda- 
gogues wish  to  teach  in  their  own  way — the  way  that  seems 
good  in  their  own  eyes ;  and  when  this  does  not  act,  they  want 
not  to  alter  their  way  of  teaching  but  the  nature  of  the  child. 
.  ,  .  Not  till  experiment  becomes  the  basis  of  the  School,  and 
every  school  is,  so  to  say,  a  pedagogic  laboratory,  will  schools 
cease  to  lag  behind  the  general  level  of  the  world's  progress. 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  235 

For  boarding-schools  Tolstoy  had  scant  respect : 

At  home  all  the  comforts  of  life — water,  fires,  good  food, 
a  well-cooked  dinner,  the  cleanliness  and  comfort  of  the  rooms 
— all  depended  on  the  work  and  care  of  the  mother  and  of  the 
whole  family.  The  more  work  and  care,  the  greater  the  com- 
fort ;  the  less  work  and  care,  the  less  comfort.  A  simple 
matter  this  no  doubt,  but  more  educational  I  think,  than  the 
French  language  or  a  knowledge  of  Alexander  the  Great. 
In  a  boarding-school,  this  constant  vital  reward  for  labour  is 
so  put  out  of  sight,  that  not  only  is  the  dinner  no  better 
or  worse,  the  napkins  no  cleaner  or  dirtier,  and  the  floors 
no  brighter  or  duller,  because  of  the  girl's  exertion  or  non- 
exertion,  but  she  has  not  even  a  cell  or  corner  of  her  own  to 
keep  straight  or  leave  untidy  at  her  pleasure,  and  she  has  no 
chance  of  making  a  costume  for  herself  out  of  scraps  and 
ribbons. 

His  general  charge  against  day-schools,  boarding-schools 
and  universities  alike  is  that : 

At  the  base  of  them  all  lies  one  and  the  same  principle  :  the 
right  of  one  man,  or  of  a  small  group  of  men^  to  shape  other 
people  as  they  like. 

He  adds  that ; 

It  is  not  enough  for  School  to  tear  children  away  from  real  life 
for  six  hours  a  day  during  the  best  years  of  their  life  :  it  wishes 
to  tear  three-year-old  children  from  their  mother's  influence. 
Institutions  have  been  contrived  (KleinMnderheivahranstallen, 
infant  schools,  salles  d'asile)  about  which  we  shall  have  to  speak 
more  in  detail  later  on.  It  only  remains  to  invent  a  steam- 
engine  which  will  replace  the  nursing  mother !  All  agree  that 
schools  are  imperfect ;  I,  personally,  am  convinced  that  they 
are  noxious. 

He  argues  that  no  man  or  set  of  men  has  any  right  to 
force  any  particular  kind  of  education  on  any  one  else. 
The  teacher  has  no  right  to  do  more  than  offer  such 
knowledge   as   he    possesses,   and    he    should    respect    the 


236  LEO  TOLSTOY 

child's    right   to   reject    it   as    indigestible,    or    as    badly 
served  up : 

On  what  grounds  does  the  School  of  to-day  teach  this  and 
not  that,  and  in  this  and  not  that  way  ? 

Where,  in  our  day,  can  we  get  such  faith  in  the  indubita- 
bility  of  our  knowledge  as  would  give  us  a  right  to  educate 
people  compulsorily  ?  Take  any  medieval  school,  before  or 
after  Luther,  take  the  whole  scholastic  literature  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  what  a  strength  of  belief  and  what  a  firm,  indubitable 
knowledge  of  what  was  true  and  what  was  false,  we  see  in 
them  !  It  was  easy  for  them  to  know  that  a  knowledge  of 
Greek  was  the  one  essential  condition  of  education ;  for 
Aristotle's  works  were  in  Greek,  and  no  one  doubted  the 
truth  of  his  propositions  till  centuries  later.  How  could  the 
monks  help  demanding  the  study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
which  stood  on  an  immovable  foundation?  It  was  well  for 
Luther  to  demand  the  compulsory  study  of  Hebrew,  being 
sure,  as  he  was,  that  in  that  language  God  himself  has  revealed 
the  truth  to  man.  Evidently,  as  long  as  man's  critical  sense 
was  not  aroused,  the  school  had  to  be  dogmatic ;  and  it  was 
natural  for  pupils  to  learn  by  heart  the  truths  revealed  by  God, 
as  well  as  Aristotle's  science  and  the  poetic  beauties  of  Virgil 
and  Cicero.  For  centuries  after,  no  one  could  imagine  any 
truer  truth,  or  more  beautiful  beauty.  But  what  is  the  position 
of  the  schools  of  our  time,  which  retain  these  same  dogmatic 
principles,  while  in  the  room  next  the  class  where  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul  is  taught,  it  is  suggested  to  the  pupils 
that  the  nerves  common  to  man  and  to  the  frog  are  what  was 
formerly  called  '  the  soul ' ;  and  where  after  hearing  the  story 
of  Joshua  the  son  of  Nun  read  to  him  without  explanations, 
the  pupil  learns  that  the  sun  never  did  go  round  the  earth ; 
and  when  after  the  beauties  of  Virgil  have  been  explained  to 
him,  he  finds  the  beauties  of  Alexandre  Dumas  (whose  novels 
he  can  buy  for  sixpence)  much  greater ;  when  the  only  belief 
held  by  the  teacher  is  that  nothing  is  true,  but  that  whatever 
exists  is  reasonable ;  and  that  progress  is  good  and  backward- 
ness bad,  though  nobody  knows  in  what  this  progress,  that  is  so 
generally  believed  in,  consists .'' 


YASNAYA  POLY  ANA  237 

In  another  article  he  says  : 

Luther  insists  on  teaching  the  Holy  Scriptures  from  the 
originals,  and  not  from  the  commentaries  of  the  Fathers  of  the 
Church.  Bacon  enjoins  the  study  of  Nature  from  Nature,  and 
not  from  the  books  of  Aristotle.  Rousseau  wants  to  teach 
life  from  life  itself  as  he  understands  it,  and  not  from  previous 
experiments.  Each  step  forward  in  the  philosophy  of  peda- 
gogics merely  consists  in  freeing  the  schools  from  the  idea 
of  teaching  the  younger  generations  what  the  elder  generations 
believed  to  be  science,  and  in  substituting  studies  that  accord 
with  the  needs  of  the  younger  generations. 

Again,  he  says 

It  is  very  usual  to  read  and  hear  it  said  that  the  home 
conditions,  the  coarseness  of  parents,  field  labour,  village 
games  and  so  forth,  are  the  chief  hindrances  to  school-work. 
Possibly  they  really  interfere  with  the  kind  of  school-work 
aimed  at  by  the  pedagogues ;  but  it  is  time  we  understood 
that  those  conditions  are  the  chief  bases  of  all  education,  and 
far  from  being  inimical  to,  or  hindrances  of  the  School,  are  its 
first  and  chief  motive  power.  .  .  .  The  wish  to  know  anything 
whatever,  and  the  very  questions  to  which  it  is  the  School's 
business  to  reply,  arise  entirely  from  these  home  conditions. 
All  instruction  should  be  simply  a  reply  to  questions  put  by 
life.  But  School,  far  from  evoking  questions,  fails  even  to 
answer  those  which  life  suggests.  ...  To  such  questions  the 
child  receives  no  reply ;  more  especially  as  the  police  regulations 
of  the  School  do  not  allow  him  to  open  his  mouth,  even  when  he 
wants  to  be  let  out  for  a  minute,  but  obliges  him  to  make  signs 
in  order  not  to  break  the  silence  or  disturb  the  teacher. 

The  great  questions,  Tolstoy  says,  are:  (1)  What  must 
I  teach  ?  and  (2)  How  must  I  teach  it  ?  He  remarks 
that  a  couple  of  centuries  ago,  neither  in  Russia  nor  in 
Western  Europe  could  these  questions  have  arisen. 
Education  was  then  bound  up  with  religion,  and  to 
become  a  scholar  meant  to  learn  the  Scriptures.  In 
Mohammedan  countries  this  union  of  religion  with  educa- 


238  LEO  TOLSTOY 

tion  still  exists  in  full  force.  To  learn,  means  to  learn 
the  Koran,  and  therefore  to  learn  Arabic.  But  as  soon  as 
the  criterion  of  what  to  learn  ceased  to  be  religion,  and 
the  School  became  independent  of  the  Church,  the  question 
of  what  to  teach  was  bound  to  arise.  That  it  did  not  arise 
suddenly,  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the  emancipation  of 
the  School  from  the  Church  took  place  gradually.  But 
the  day  has  at  last  come  when  the  question  must  be  faced  ; 
and  no  clear  guidance  is  given  us  either  by  philosophy 
or  by  any  definite  consensus  of  opinion  among  those 
concerned  with  education.  In  the  higher  schools  some 
advocate  a  classical,  others  a  scientific,  education ;  while 
in  the  primary  schools,  if  the  education  is  controlled  by 
the  priests  it  is  carried  on  in  one  way,  and  if  it  is  con- 
trolled by  the  anti-clericals  it  is  carried  on  in  another. 
Under  these  circumstances  the  only  possible  criterion  must 
be  the  wish  of  the  pupils  or  of  their  parents.  Tolstoy 
then  goes  on  to  maintain  that  the  demand  of  the  mass  of 
the  Russian  people  is  for  tuition  in  the  Russian  and 
Ecclesiastico-Slavonic  languages,  and  for  mathematics. 

As  to  liow  to  teach,  he  contends  that  this  resolves 
itself  into  the  question,  How  to  establish  the  best  possible 
relations  between  those  who  want  to  learn  and  those  who 
want  to  teach,  and  he  says  : 

No  one,  probably,  will  deny  that  the  best  relation  between 
a  teacher  and  his  pupils  is  a  natural  one,  and  that  the  opposite 
to  a  natural  one  is  a  compulsory  one.  If  that  be  so,  then  the 
measure  of  all  scholastic  methods  consists  in  the  greater  or 
lesser  naturalness,  and  consequently  in  the  less  or  more 
compulsion  employed.  The  less  the  children  are  compelled, 
the  better  is  the  method ;  the  more  they  are  compelled,  the 
worse  is  the  method.  I  am  glad  that  it  is  not  necessary  for 
me  to  prove  this  obvious  truth.  All  are  agreed  that  it  cannot 
be  good  for  health  to  employ  foods,  medicines,  or  exercises 
which  create  disgust  or  pain ;  and  so  also  in  learning,  there  can 
be  no  need  to  compel  children  to  grind  at  anything  dull   or 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  239 

repugnant  to  them  ;  and  if  it  seems  necessary  to  use  com- 
pulsion, that  fact  can  merely  prove  the  imperfection  of  the 
methods  employed.  All  who  have  taught  children  have 
probably  noticed  that  the  worse  the  teacher  knows  the  subject 
he  is  dealing  with  and  the  less  he  likes  it,  the  more  he  has  to 
be  stem  and  the  more  compulsion  he  has  to  use ;  while  on  the 
contrary,  the  better  the  teacher  knows  and  loves  his  subject, 
the  more  free  and  natural  will  be  his  tuition. 

If  history  be  closely  examined,  it  will  be  found  that  every 
advance  in  pedagogics  has  consisted  merely  in  a  diminution  of 
compulsion,  a  facilitation  of  study,  and  a  greater  and  greater  ap- 
proach to  naturalness  in  the  relations  between  teacher  and  pupil. 

People  have  asked,  How  can  we  find  the  degree  of  freedom 
to  be  allowed  in  school  ?  To  which  I  reply  that  the  limit  of 
that  freedom  is  naturally  defined  by  the  teacher,  by  his  know- 
ledge, and  by  his  capacity  to  manage  the  school.  Such 
freedom  cannot  be  dictated ;  its  measure  is  merely  the  result 
of  the  greater  or  lesser  knowledge  and  talent  possessed  by  the 
master.  Freedom  is  not  a  rule,  but  it  serves  as  a  gauge  when 
comparing  one  school  with  another,  or  when  judging  of  new 
methods.  The  school  in  which  there  is  less  compulsion,  is 
better  than  the  one  in  which  there  is  more.  That  method 
is  good  which,  when  introduced  into  a  school,  does  not 
necessitate  any  increase  of  discipline ;  while  that  is  certainly 
bad  which  necessitates  greater  severity. 

From  his  main  subject  of  Education,  Tolstoy  digresses 
in  these  articles  into  a  discussion  of  other  problems,  in  a 
way  which  reminds  one  of  those  wonderful  essays  he  began 
to  pour  forth  a  quarter  of  a  century  later. 

That  he  had  been  somewhat  influenced  by  the  Slavophils 
is  indicated  by  his  readiness  to  assume  that  Russia  may 
advance  along  a  line  of  her  own,  entirely  different  to  that 
the  Western  nations  have  travelled.  '  Progress,'  in  which 
like  almost  all  his  contemporaries  he  had  believed,  he 
now  questions;  and  he  indulges  in  a  sharp  attack  on 
Macaulay  for  the  third  chapter  of  his  History,  which  he 
says  contains  no  proof  that   any  real  progress  has    been 


240  LEO  TOLSTOY 

achieved.  Buckle,  similarly,  is  roughly  handled  for  the 
assumption  of  progress  that  underlies  his  History  of 
CiviUsation ;  but  most  scathing  of  all  is  his  onslaught 
upon  Hegel,  who  (till  Darwin  appeared)  was  the  rock  on 
which  many  of  the  intellectual  Liberals  took  their  stand. 

From  the  time  of  Hegel  and  his  famous  aphorism  :  '  What 
is  historic  is  reasonable/  a  very  queer  mental  hocus-pocus  has  pre- 
vailed in  literary  and  in  verbal  disputes,  especially  among  us, 
under  the  name  of  'the  historic  view.'  You  say,  for  instance,  that 
man  has  a  right  to  freedom,  or  to  be  tried  on  the  basis  of  laws  of 
which  he  himself  approves ;  but  the  historic  view  replies  that 
history  evolves  a  certain  historic  moment  conditioning  a  certain 
historic  legislation  and  a  people's  historic  relation  thereto. 
You  say  you  believe  in  a  God ;  and  the  historic  view  replies 
that  histoiy  evolves  certain  historic  views  and  humanity's 
relation  to  those  views.  You  say  the  Iliad  is  the  greatest  of 
epic  works ;  and  the  historic  view  replies  that  the  Iliad  is 
merely  the  expression  of  the  historic  consciousness  of  a  people 
at  a  certain  historic  moment.  On  this  basis,  the  historic  view 
does  not  dispute  with  you  as  to  whether  man  needs  freedom, 
or  whether  there  is  or  is  not  a  God,  or  whether  the  Iliad  is  good 
or  bad:  it  does  nothing  to  establish  the  freedom  you  desire; 
to  persuade  or  dissuade  you  of  the  existence  of  a  God  or  of  the 
beauty  of  the  Iliad  ;  it  merely  points  out  to  you  the  place  your 
inner  need  or  your  love  of  truth  or  beauty,  occupy  in  history. 
It  merely  recognises — and  recognises  not  by  direct  cognition, 
but  by  historic  ratiocination. 

Say  that  you  love  or  believe  anything,  and  the  historic  view 
tells  you :  '  Love  and  believe,  and  your  love  and  faith  will  find 
their  place  in  our  historic  view.  Ages  will  pass  and  we  shall 
find  the  place  you  are  to  occupy  in  history.  Know  however  in 
advance,  that  what  you  love  is  not  absolutely  beautiful,  and  what 
you  believe  in  is  not  absolutely  true  ;  yet  amuse  yourselves,  chil- 
dren :  your  love  and  faith  will  find  their  place  and  application.' 

It  is  only  necessary  to  add  the  word  '  historic '  to  any  con- 
ception you  like,  and  that  conception  loses  its  real  vital 
meaning,  in  an  artificially-formed  historic  world-conception. 


YASNAYA  POLY  ANA  241 

Of  the  introduction  of  teleirraphs  and  railways  he 
remarks  that  people  attribute  great  importance  to  these 
inventions,  and  boast  of  the  progress  that  is  being  made, 
declaring  that : 

'  Man  is  mastering  the  forces  of  Nature.  Thought,  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  flies  from  one  end  of  the  world  to  the 
other.     Time  is  vanquished.' 

This,  says  Tolstoy,  is  excellent  and  touching. 

But  let  us  see  who  gains  by  it.  We  are  speaking  of  the 
progress  of  the  electric  telegraph.  Evidently  the  advantage 
and  use  of  the  telegraph  is  reserved  for  the  upper,  so-called 
'educated'  class;  while  the  people,  nine-tenths  of  the  whole, 
only  hear  the  droning  of  the  wires  and  are  hampered  by  the 
strict  laws  made  for  the  protection  of  the  telegraph. 

Along  the  wires  flies  the  thought  that  the  demand  for  such- 
and-such  an  article  has  increased,  and  that  the  price  must 
therefore  be  raised ;  or  the  thought  that  I,  a  Russian  landed 
proprietress,  living  in  Florence,  have,  thank  God,  recovered  from 
my  nervous  prostration,  and  that  I  embrace  my  adored  husband 
and  beg  him  to  send  me  40,000  francs  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Without  going  into  exact  statistics  of  the  messages  sent, 
one  may  be  quite  sure  that  they  all  belong  to  the  kind  of 
correspondence  of  which  the  above  are  samples.  No  peasant 
of  Yasnaya  Polyana  in  the  Government  of  Toula,  or  any  other 
Russian  peasant  (and  let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  the  peasants 
form  the  mass  of  the  people  whose  welfare  'progress'  is 
supposed  to  secure)  ever  has  sent  or  received,  or  for  a  long 
time  to  come  will  either  send  or  receive,  a  single  telegram. 
All  the  messages  that  fly  above  his  head  add  no  jot  to  his 
welfare,  because  all  he  needs  he  gets  from  his  own  fields  and 
his  own  woods,  and  he  is  equally  indifferent  to  the  cheapness 
or  dearness  of  sugar  or  cotton,  to  the  dethronement  of  King 
Otho,  the  speeches  of  Palraerston  and  Napoleon  III,  or  the 
feelings  of  the  lady  in  Florence.  All  those  thoughts  that  fly 
with  the  rapidity  of  lightning  round  the  world,  do  not  increase 
the  fertility  of  liis  fields  nor  diminish  the  strictness  of  the 
keepers  in  the  squire's  or  the  Crown's  fo-ests,  nor  do  they  add 

Q 


242  LEO  TOLSTOY 

to  his  or  his  family's  working  power,  or  supply  him  with 
an  extra  labourer.  All  these  great  thoughts  may  impair  his 
welfare,  but  cannot  secure  or  further  it,  and  can  have  but  a 
negative  interest  for  him.  To  the  True-Believers  in  progress, 
however,  the  telegraph  wires  have  brought  and  are  bringing 
immense  advantages.  I  do  not  deny  those  advantages :  I  only 
wish  to  prove  that  one  must  not  think,  or  persuade  others, 
that  what  is  advantageous  for  me,  is  a  great  blessing  to  all  the 
world.  .  .  . 

In  the  opinion  of  the  Russian  people  what  increases  their 
welfare  is  an  increase  of  the  fertility  of  the  soil,  an  increase  in 
the  herds  of  cattle,  an  increase  of  the  quantity  of  grain  and  its 
consequently  becoming  cheaper,  an  increase  of  working  power, 
an  increase  in  woods  and  pastures,  and  the  absence  of  town 
temptations.  (I  beg  the  reader  to  observe  that  no  peasant 
ever  complains  of  the  cheapness  of  bread ;  it  is  only  the 
political  economists  of  Western  Europe  who  soothe  him  with 
the  prospect  that  bread  will  become  dearer  and  render  it  more 
possible  for  him  to  purchase  manufactured  articles,  in  which  he 
is  not  interested.) 

Which  of  these  benefits  does  the  railway  bring  to  the 
peasant .''  It  increases  the  temptations  ;  it  destroys  the  woods ; 
it  draws  away  labourers ;  it  raises  the  price  of  grain.  .  .  . 

The  real  people,  that  is  to  say  those  who  themselves  work 
and  live  productively — nine-tenths  of  the  whole  nation — with- 
out whom  no  progress  is  conceivable,  are  always  hostile  to  the 
railway.  And  so  what  it  comes  to  is  this :  that  the  believers 
in  'progress,'  a  small  part  of  society,  say  that  railways  increase 
the  welfare  of  the  people  ;  while  the  larger  part  of  the  nation 
say  that  the  railways  decrease  it. 

Interesting,  stimulating  and  suggestive  as  Tolstoy's 
articles  were,  and  valuable  as  was  the  experience  gained  in 
his  school,  his  magazine  had  very  few  subscribers  and  only 
existed  for  one  year  :  the  twelfth  number  was  the  last. 

In  an  article  written  thirteen  years  later,  he  says  of  his 
attempts  in  1861-2  : 

At  that  time  I  met  with  no  sympathy  in  the  educational 
journals,  nor  even  with  any  contradiction,  but  only  with  the 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  243 

completest  indifference  to  the  question  I  was  raising.  There 
were,  it  is  true,  some  attacks  on  a  few  insignificant  details,  but 
the  question  itself  evidently  interested  no  one.  I  was  young 
at  that  time,  and  this  indifference  galled  me.  I  did  not  under- 
stand that  I  with  my  question :  How  do  you  know  what  and 
how  to  teach  ?  was  like  a  man  who,  in  an  assembly  of  Turkish 
Pachas  discussing  how  to  collect  more  taxes  from  the  people, 
should  say  to  them  :  Gentlemen,  before  discussing  how  much 
to  take  from  each  man,  we  must  first  consider  what  right  we 
have  to  collect  taxes  at  all  ?  Obviously,  the  Pachas  would 
continue  to  discuss  the  methods  of  collecting,  and  would  ignore 
the  irrelevant  question. 

Before  passing  on  to  tell  of  the  actual  working  of  the 
Yasnaya  Polyana  school,  there  is  one  matter  to  be  noted, 
small  indeed  in  itself,  but  characteristic,  and  helpful  for  the 
understanding  of  Tolstoy's  later  development. 

Tolstoy's  personal  honour  has  never  been  questioned, 
and  the  reader  will  remember  that  at  Sevastopol  he  flatly 
refused  to  touch  money  which,  according  to  the  long-stand- 
ing regimental  custom,  was  at  his  disposal.  Well,  in  his 
magazine  he  printed  a  story  written  by  one  of  the  boys 
in  the  school,  and  appraised  it  with  enthusiasm.  The  hero 
of  the  story,  who  had  been  wretchedly  poor,  returns  from 
the  army  with  money  to  spare,  and  explains  the  matter 
to  his  wife  by  saying  :  *  I  was  a  non-commissioned  officer 
and  had  Crown  money  to  pay  out  to  the  soldiers,  and 
some  remaining  over,  I  kept  it.' 

Commenting  on  this,  Tolstoy  says  : 

It  is  revealed  that  the  soldier  has  become  rich,  and  has  done 
so  in  the  simplest  and  most  natural  manner,  just  as  almost 
everybody  does  who  becomes  rich — that  is,  by  other  people's, 
the  Crown's,  or  somebody's,  money  remaining  in  his  hands  owing 
to  a  fortunate  accident.  Some  readers  have  remarked  that  this 
incident  is  immoral,  and  that  the  people's  conception  of  the 
Crown  as  a  milch  cow  should  be  eradicated  and  not  confirmed. 
But  not  to  speak  of  its  artistic  truth,  I  particularly  value  that 
trait  in  the  story.     Does  not  the  Crown  money  always  stop 


244  LEO  TOLSTOY 

somewhere  ?  And  why  should  it  not^  once  in  a  way^  stop  with 
a  homeless  soldier  like  Gordey  ? 

In  the  views  of  honesty  held  by  the  peasants  and  the  upper 
elasSj  a  complete  contrast  is  often  noticeable.  The  peasants* 
demands  are  specially  serious  and  strict  with  regard  to  honesty 
in  the  nearest  relations  of  life ;  for  instance,  in  respect  to  one's 
family,  one's  village,  or  one's  commune.  In  respect  to  out- 
siders :  the  public,  the  Crown,  or  foreigners,  or  the  Treasury 
especially,  the  applicability  of  the  rules  of  honesty  seems  to 
them  obscure.  A  peasant  who  would  never  tell  a  lie  to  his 
brother  peasant,  and  who  would  bear  all  possible  hardships  for 
the  sake  of  his  family,  and  not  take  a  farthing  from  a  fellow- 
villager  or  neighbour  without  having  fully  earned  it — will  be 
ready  to  squeeze  a  foreigner  or  a  townsman  like  an  orange,  and 
at  every  second  word  will  lie  to  a  gentleman  or  an  official.  If 
he  is  a  soldier,  he  will  without  the  slightest  twinge  of  conscience 
stab  a  French  prisoner,  and  should  Crown  money  come  his  way, 
he  would  consider  it  a  crime  to  his  family  not  to  take  it,  In  the 
upper  class,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  quite  the  reverse.  ...  I  do  not 
say  which  is  better,  I  only  say  what  I  believe  to  be  the  case.  .  .  . 

To  return  to  the  story.  The  mention  of  the  Crown  money, 
which  at  first  seems  immoral,  in  our  opinion  has  a  most  sweet 
and  touching  character.  How  often  a  writer  of  our  circle, 
when  wishing  to  show  his  hero  as  an  ideal  of  honesty,  naively 
displays  to  us  the  dirty  and  depraved  nature  of  his  own  imagina- 
tion !  Here,  on  the  contrary,  the  author  has  to  make  his  hero 
happy.  His  return  to  his  family  would  suffice  for  that,  but  it 
was  also  necessary  to  remove  the  poverty  which  for  so  many 
years  had  weighed  on  the  family.  Where  was  he  to  take  money 
from  ?  From  the  impersonal  Crown  !  If  the  author  is  to 
give  him  wealth,  it  has  to  be  taken  from  some  one,  and  it 
could  not  have  been  found  in  a  more  legitimate  or  reasonable 
way. 

No  doubt  Tolstoy's  statement  of  peasant  morality  is 
true  enough ;  but  Tolstoy's  attitude  towards  the  matter 
is  remarkable.  He  has  always  had  a  keen  sense  of  personal 
morality,  but  when  public  morality  was  in  question,  his 
decisions  seem  to  me  often  to  have  been  at  fault. 


YASNAYA  POLYANA  245 

Passing  from  the  moral  to  the  economic  aspect  of  the 
question,  to  Western  ears  it  sounds  strange  to  hear  the 
medieval  or  Oriental  conception  so  boldly  announced,  that 
property  *  has  to  be  taken  from  some  one '  before  it  can 
be  obtained.  In  our  world,  wealth  has,  during  the  last 
five  generations,  been  increased  enormously  by  inventions, 
by  organisation,  by  division  of  labour,  by  the  skilful  utilisa- 
tion of  the  forces  of  Nature,  as  well  as  by  co-operation  and 
the  bringing  together  into  one  place  of  industries  and 
individuals  mutually  helpful ;  and  it  has  become  im- 
possible for  us  to  believe  that  the  only  way  to  obtain 
wealth  is  by  depriving  some  one  else  of  wealth  they  already 
possess. 

AUTHORITIES   FOR  CHAPTER  VII 

Birokof. 

Fet. 

Tolstoy's  letter  to  A.  Maude. 

Tolstoy's  Educational  Articles. 

Lowenfeld's  Leo  N.  Tolstoj. 

P.  A.  Sergeyenko  ia  Aiva,  No.  7,  1906. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SCHOOL 

Yasno-Polyana  School.  Freedom  in  class.  Natural  laws. 
A  fight.  Theft  and  punishment.  A  walk  and  talk  on  art. 
Peasants'  opinion  of  the  school.  Gymnastics.  Reading. 
The  Bible.  Penmanship.  Grammar.  History.  Geography. 
Drawing.  Singing.  Composition.  A  literary  genius.  Art : 
exclusive  or  universal  ?  Reading  useless  for  lack  of  what  to 
read.     The  value  of  freedom  in  education.     A  contrast. 

As  already  mentioned,  Tolstoy's  magazine,  besides  its 
theoretical  articles,  contained  others  describing  the  work 
done  at  the  Yasno-Polyana  school,  and  from  these  we 
learn  in  his  own  words,  how  Tolstoy  and  his  pupils,  and 
the  masters  (including  the  young  German,  Keller,  whom 
he  had  brought  back  with  him  from  abroad)  were  occu- 
pied in  November  and  December  1861.  The  following 
passages  are  part  of  his  description  of  the  school : 

No  one  brings  anything  with  him,  neither  books  nor  copy- 
books. No  homework  is  set  them.  Not  only  do  they  carry 
nothing  in  their  hands,  they  have  nothing  to  carry  even  in 
their  heads.  They  are  not  obliged  to  remember  any  lesson, 
nor  any  of  yesterday's  work.  They  are  not  tormented  by  the 
thought  of  the  impending  lesson.  They  bring  only  themselves, 
their  receptive  nature,  and  an  assurance  that  it  will  be  as  jolly 
in  school  to-day  as  it  was  yesterday.  They  do  not  think  of 
their  classes  till  they  have  begun.  No  one  is  ever  scolded  for 
being  late,  and  they  never  are  late,  except  perhaps  some  of  the 
older  boys  whose  fathers  occasionally  keep  them  at  home  to  do 
some  work.     In  such  cases  the  boy  comes  to  school  running 

240 


SCHOOL  247 

fast  and  panting.  Until  the  teacher  arrives,  some  gather  at 
the  porch,  pushing  one  another  off  the  steps  or  shding  on  the 
ice-covered  path,  and  some  go  into  the  rooms.  When  it  is 
cold,  while  waiting  for  the  master,  they  read,  write,  or  play 
about.  The  girls  do  not  mix  with  the  boys.  When  the  boys 
take  any  notice  of  the  girls,  they  never  address  any  one  of  them 
in  particular,  but  always  speak  to  them  collectively :  '  Hey, 
girls,  why  don't  you  come  and  slide  ? '  or,  '  Look  how  frozen 
the  girls  are,'  or,  '  Now  girls,  all  of  you  against  me  ! ' 

Suppose  that  by  the  time-table  the  lesson  for  the  youngest 
class  is  elementary  reading ;  for  the  second,  advanced  reading ; 
and  for  the  third,  mathematics.  The  teacher  enters  the  room, 
on  the  floor  of  which  the  boys  are  lying  in  a  heap,  shouting, '  The 
heap  is  too  small ! '  or,  *  Boys,  you  're  choking  me  ! '  or,  '  Don't 
pull  my  hair  ! '  etc. 

'  Peter  Mihaylovitch  ! '  cries  a  voice  from  the  bottom  of  the 
heap,  to  the  teacher  as  he  enters  :  '  Tell  them  to  stop ! ' — 
'Good  morning,  Peter  Mihaylovitch!'  cry  others,  continuing 
their  scrimmage.  The  teacher  takes  the  books  and  gives  them 
to  those  who  have  followed  him  to  the  cupboard,  while  from 
the  heap  of  boys  on  the  floor,  those  on  top,  still  sprawling, 
demand  books.  The  heap  gradually  diminishes.  As  soon  as 
most  of  the  boys  have  taken  books,  the  rest  run  to  the  cup- 
board crying,  '  Me  too  !  Me  too ! ' — '  Give  me  yesterday's 
book  ! ' — '  Give  me  Koltsof ! '  and  so  forth.  If  a  couple  of  boys 
excited  by  their  struggle  still  remain  on  the  floor,  those  who 
have  taken  books  and  settled  down,  shout  at  them,  '  V  '^hat  are 
you  up  to  }  We  can't  hear  anything  !  Stop  it ! '  The  excited 
ones  submit,  and,  panting,  take  to  their  books ;  and  only  just 
at  first  swing  their  legs  with  unspent  excitement  as  they  sit 
reading.  The  spirit  of  war  flies  away  and  the  spirit  of  reading 
reigns  in  the  room.  With  the  same  ardour  with  which  he 
pulled  Mitka's  hair,  he  now  reads  Koltsof's  works :  with 
almost  clenched  teeth,  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  oblivious  of  all 
around  him  but  his  book.  To  tear  him  from  his  reading  now 
would  need  as  much  effort  as  formerly  to  tear  him  from  his 
wrestling. 

They  sit  where  they  like :  on  the  benches,  tables,  window- 
sills,  floor,  or  in  the  arm-chair.     The  girls  always  sit  together. 


248  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Friends  from  the  same  village^  especially  the  little  ones  (among 
whom  there  is  most  comradeship)  always  sit  together.  As  soon 
as  one  of  them  decides  that  he  will  sit  in  a  certain  corner,  all 
his  chums,  pushing  and  diving  under  the  forms,  get  there  too, 
and  sit  together  looking  about  them  with  faces  that  express 
as  much  happiness  and  satisfaction  as  though,  having  settled  in 
that  place,  they  would  certainly  be  happy  for  the  rest  of  their 
lives.  The  large  arm-chair  (which  somehow  found  its  way  into 
the  room)  is  an  object  coveted  by  the  more  independent  per- 
sonalities. ...  As  soon  as  one  of  them  decides  to  sit  in  it, 
another  discerns  his  intention  from  his  looks,  and  they  collide 
and  squeeze  in.  One  dislodges  the  other,  and  curling  up, 
sprawls  with  his  head  far  below  the  back,  but  reads  like  the 
rest,  quite  absorbed  in  his  work.  During  lessons  I  have  never 
seen  them  whispering,  pinching,  giggling,  laughing  behind 
their  hands,  or  complaining  of  one  another  to  the  teacher. 

The  two  lower  classes  sort  themselves  in  one  room,  the  upper 
class  in  another.  The  teacher  appears,  and  in  the  first  class  all 
surround  him  at  the  blackboard,  or  lie  on  the  forms,  or  sit  on 
the  table,  near  him  or  near  one  of  the  boys  who  reads.  If  it  is 
a  writing  lesson,  they  place  themselves  in  a  more  orderly  way, 
but  keep  getting  up  to  look  at  one  another's  exercise  books, 
and  to  show  their  own  to  the  teacher.  According  to  the  time- 
table there  sliould  be  four  lessons  before  dinner ;  but  sometimes 
in  practice  these  become  three  or  two,  and  may  be  on  quite 
other  subjects.  The  teacher  may  begin  with  arithmetic  and  pass 
on  to  geometry ;  or  may  begin  with  Sacred  History  and  end  up 
with  grammar.  Sometimes  teacher  and  pupils  are  so  carried 
away,  that  a  lesson  lasts  three  hours  instead  of  one.  Sometimes 
the  pupils  themselves  cry  :  '  Go  on,  go  on  ! '  and  shout  con- 
temptuously to  any  who  are  tired  :  '  If  you  're  tired,  go  to  the 
little  ones ! ' 

In  my  opinion  this  external  disorder  is  useful  and  necessary, 
however  strange  and  inconvenient  it  may  seem  to  the  teacher. 
Of  its  advantages  I  shall  have  frequent  occasion  to  speak;  but 
of  its  apparent  disadvantages  I  will  say  : 

First,  this  disorder,  or  free  order,  only  frightens  us  because 
we  ourselves  were  educated  in,  and  are  accustomed  to,  some- 
thing quite   different.     Secondly,   in   this  as  in    many   similar 


SCHOOL  249 

cases,  coercion  is  used  only  from  hastiness  or  from  lack  of 
respect  for  human  nature.  We  think  the  disorder  is  growing 
greater  and  greater,  and  that  it  has  no  limit.  We  think  there 
is  no  way  of  stopping  it  except  by  force ;  but  one  need  only 
wait  a  little,  and  the  disorder  (or  animation)  calms  down  of 
itself,  and  calms  down  into  a  far  better  and  more  durable  order 
than  any  we  could  devise. 

In  another  place  he  says : 

Our  school  evolved  freely  from  the  principles  brought  into 
it  by  the  teachers  and  pupils.  In  spite  of  the  predominant 
influence  of  the  teacher,  the  pupil  always  had  the  right  not  to 
go  to  school ;  and  even  when  in  school^  not  to  listen  to  the 
teacher.     The  teacher  had  the  right  not  to  admit  a  pupil.  .   .  . 

Submitting  naturally  only  to  laws  derived  from  their  own 
nature,  children  revolt  and  rebel  when  subjected  to  your  pre- 
mature interference.  They  do  not  believe  in  the  validity  of 
your  bells  and  time-tables  and  rules.  How  often  have  I  seen 
children  fighting.  The  teacher  rushes  to  separate  them,  and  the 
separated  enemies  look  at  one  another  askance,  and  even  in  the 
stern  teacher's  presence  cannot  refrain  from  giving  one  another 
a  parting  blow,  yet  more  painful  than  its  predecessors.  How 
often,  any  day,  do  I  see  some  Kiriishka,  clenching  his  teeth,  fly 
at  Taraska,  seize  his  hair,  and  throw  him  to  the  ground, 
apparently — though  it  costs  him  his  life — determined  to  maim  his 
foe  ;  yet  not  a  minute  passes  before  Taraska  is  already  laughing 
under  Kinishka.  One,  and  then  the  other,  moderates  his 
blows,  and  before  five  minutes  have  passed  they  have  made 
friends,  and  off  they  go  to  sit  together. 

The  other  day,  between  lessons,  two  boys  were  struggling  in 
a  corner.  The  one,  a  remarkable  mathematician  about  ten 
years  old,  is  in  the  second  class ;  the  other,  a  close-cropped  lad, 
the  son  of  a  servant,  is  a  clever  but  vindictive,  tiny,  black-eyed 
lad,  nicknamed  Pussy.  Pussy  seized  the  mathematician's  long 
hair  and  jammed  his  head  against  the  wall ;  the  mathematician 
vainly  clutched  at  Pussy's  close-cropped  bristles.  Pussy's  black 
eyes  gleamed  triumphantly.  The  mathematician,  hardly  re- 
fraining from   tears,  kept   saying :    •  Well,  well,  what  of  it  ? ' 


250  LEO  TOLSTOY 

But  though  he  tried  to  keep  up  appearances,  it  was  plain  he 
was  faring  badly.  This  went  on  for  some  time,  and  I  was  in 
doubt  what  to  do.  '  A  fight,  a  fight ! '  shouted  the  boys,  and 
crowded  towards  the  corner.  The  little  ones  laughed;  but 
the  bigger  ones,  though  they  did  not  interfere,  exchanged 
serious  glances,  and  their  silence  and  these  glances  did  not 
escape  Pussy's  observation.  He  understood  that  he  was  doing 
something  wrong,  and  began  to  smile  shamefacedly,  and  by 
degrees  let  go  of  the  mathematician's  hair.  The  mathe- 
matician shook  himself  free,  and  giving  Pussy  a  push  that 
banged  the  back  of  the  latter's  head  against  the  wall,  went  off 
satisfied.  Pussy  began  to  cry,  and  rushed  after  his  enemy, 
hitting  him  as  hard  as  he  could  on  his  sheepskin  coat,  but 
without  hurting  him.  The  mathematician  wished  to  pay  him 
back,  but  at  that  moment  several  disapproving  voices  were 
raised.  '  There  now  ;  he  's  fighting  a  little  fellow  ! '  cried  the 
onlookers,  '  get  away.  Pussy ! ' — and  therewith  the  affair  ended 
as  though  it  had  never  occurred,  except,  I  think,  that  both 
combatants  retained  a  dim  consciousness  that  fighting  is  un- 
pleasant, because  both  get  hurt. 

In  this  case  I  seemed  to  detect  a  feeling  of  fairness  influenc- 
ing: the  crowd :  but  how  often  such  affairs  are  settled  so  that 
one  does  not  know  what  law  has  decided  them,  and  yet  both 
sides  are  satisfied !  How  arbitrary  and  unjust  by  comparison 
are  all  School  methods  of  dealing  with  such  cases.  *  You  are 
both  to  blame :  kneel  down  ! '  says  the  teacher ;  and  the 
teacher  is  wrong,  because  one  boy  is  in  the  wrong,  and  that  one 
triumphs  while  on  his  knees,  and  chews  the  cud  of  his  un- 
expended anger,  while  the  innocent  one  is  doubly  punished.  .  .  . 

I  am  convinced  that  the  School  should  not  interfere  with 
that  part  of  education  which  belongs  to  the  family.  The 
School  should  not,  and  has  no  right  to,  reward  or  punish  ;  and 
the  best  police  and  administration  of  a  School  consist  in  giving 
full  freedom  to  the  pupils  to  learn  and  get  on  among  themselves 
as  they  like.  I  am  convinced  of  this  ;  and  yet  the  customary 
School  habits  are  still  so  strong  in  us  that  in  the  Ydsno-Polyana 
school  we  frequently  break  this  rule.  .  .  , 

During  last  summer,  while  the  school  -  house  was  being 
repaired,  a  Leyden  jar  disappeared  from  the  physical  cabinet ; 


SCHOOL  251 

pencils  disappeared  repeatedly,  as  well  as  books — and  this  at 
a  time  when  neither  the  carpenters  nor  the  painters  were 
at  work.  We  questioned  the  boys.  The  best  pupils,  those 
who  had  been  with  us  longest,  old  friends  of  ours,  blushed  and 
were  so  uneasy  that  any  Public  Prosecutor  would  have  thought 
their  confusion  a  sure  proof  of  their  guilt.  But  I  knew  them, 
and  could  answer  for  them  as  for  myself.  I  understood  that 
the  very  idea  of  being  suspected  offended  them  deeply  and 
painfully.  A  gifted  and  tendei'-hearted  boy,  whom  I  will  call 
Theodore,  turned  quite  pale,  trembled  and  wept.  They  pro- 
mised to  tell  me,  if  they  found  out ;  but  they  declined  to 
undertake  a  search.  A  few  days  later  the  thief  was  discovered. 
He  was  the  son  of  a  servant  from  a  distant  village.  He  had 
led  astray,  and  made  an  accomplice  of,  a  peasant  boy  from  the 
same  village ;  and  together  they  had  hidden  the  stolen  articles 
in  a  box.  This  discovery  produced  a  strange  feeling  in  the 
other  pupils:  a  kind  of  relief  and  even  joy,  accompanied  by 
contempt  and  pity  for  the  thief.  We  proposed  that  they  should 
allot  the  punishment  themselves.  Some  demanded  that  the 
thief  should  be  flogged,  but  stipulated  that  they  should  do  the 
flogging ;  others  said :  '  Sew  a  card  on  him,  with  the  word 
Ihief.'  This  latter  punishment,  to  our  shame  be  it  said,  had 
been  used  by  us  before,  and  it  was  the  very  boy  who  a  year  ago 
had  himself  been  labelled  liar,  who  now  most  insistently 
demanded  a  card  for  the  thief.  We  consented,  and  when  one 
of  the  girls  was  sewing  the  card  on,  all  the  pupils  watched  and 
teased  the  punished  boys  with  malicious  joy.  They  wanted  the 
punishment  increased :  '  Let  them  be  led  through  the  village ; 
and  let  them  wear  cards  till  the  holidays,'  said  they.  The 
victims  cried.  The  peasant  boy  who  had  been  led  astray  by  his 
comrade,  a  gifted  narrator  and  jester,  a  plump,  white,  chubby 
little  chap,  wept  without  restraint  and  with  all  his  childish 
might.  The  other,  the  chief  offender,  a  hump-nosed  boy  with 
a  thin-featured,  clever  face,  became  pale,  his  lips  quivered,  his 
eyes  looked  wildly  and  angrily  at  his  joyous  comrades,  and 
occasionally  his  face  was  unnaturally  distorted  by  a  sob.  His 
cap,  with  a  torn  peak,  was  stuck  on  the  very  back  of  his  head  ; 
his  hair  was  ruffled,  his  clothes  soiled  with  chalk.  All  this  now 
struck  me  and  everybody  else  as  though  we  saw  it  for  the  first 


252  LEO  TOLSTOY 

time.  The  unkindly  attention  of  all  was  directed  to  him,  and 
he  felt  it  painfully.  When,  with  bent  head  and  without  look- 
ing round,  he  started  homeward  with  (as  it  seemed  to  me)  a 
peculiar,  criminal  gait,  and  when  the  boys  ran  after  him  in 
a  crowd,  teasing  him  in  an  unnatural  and  strangely  cruel 
way  as  though,  against  their  will,  they  were  moved  by  some 
evil  spirit,  something  told  me  that  we  were  not  doing  right. 
But  things  took  their  course,  and  the  thief  wore  the  card  that 
whole  day.  Fi*om  this  time  he  began,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  to 
learn  worse,  and  one  did  not  see  him  playing  and  talking  with 
his  fellows  out  of  class. 

One  day  I  came  to  a  lesson,  and  the  pupils  informed  me,  with 
a  kind  of  horror,  that  the  boy  had  again  stolen.  He  had  taken 
twenty  copecks  (seven  pence)  in  coppers  from  the  teacher's  room, 
and  had  been  caught  hiding  them  under  the  stairs.  We  again 
hung  a  card  on  him ;  and  again  the  same  revolting  scene  re- 
commenced. I  began  to  admonish  him,  as  all  masters  admonish  • 
and  a  big  boy,  fond  of  talking,  who  was  present,  also  ad- 
monished him — probably  repeating  words  he  had  heard  his 
father,  an  innkeeper,  use :  '  You  steal  once,  and  you  do  it 
again,'  said  he  distinctly,  glibly,  and  with  dignity ;  '  it  becomes 
a  habit,  and  leads  to  no  good.'  I  began  to  get  vexed.  I 
glanced  at  the  face  of  the  punished  boy,  which  had  become  yet 
paler,  more  suffering  and  harder  than  before ;  and  somehow  I 
thought  of  convicts,  and  suddenly  I  felt  so  ashamed  and 
disgusted  that  I  tore  the  stupid  card  off  him,  told  him  to  go 
where  he  liked,  and  became  convinced — and  convinced  not  by 
reason,  but  by  my  whole  nature  —  that  I  had  no  right  to 
torment  that  unfortunate  boy,  and  that  it  was  not  in  my  power 
to  make  of  him  what  I  and  the  innkeeper's  son  wanted  to  make 
of  him.  I  became  convinced  that  there  are  secrets  of  the  soul, 
hidden  from  us,  on  which  life  may  act,  but  which  precepts  and 
punishments  do  not  reach. 

It  may  be  said  that  any  department  of  life  could  be 
treated  in  this  way  :  we  have  merely  to  invert  an  estab- 
lished order  founded  on  the  experience  of  men,  and  a 
topsy-turvy  millennium  is  born.  It  may  a!so  be  said  that 
in  the  foregoing  pages  Tolstoy  appears  as  the  evangelist 


SCHOOL  253 

of  an  educational  system  founded  on  the  free  play  of 
youthful  instincts  which,  speaking  merely  the  language  of 
natural  animal  life,  call  for  sympathetic  discipline.  But 
in  his  Confession  Tolstoy  has  treated  his  educational  writ- 
ings with  such  scant  respect  that  criticism  is  disarmed  ; 
more  especially  as  the  actual  working  of  his  school  was 
extremely  interesting  and  much  more  successful  than  might 
have  been  expected. 

N.  V.  Ouspensky,  the  writer,  narrates  that  he  visited 
Yasnaya  Poly  ana  in  1862,  and  Tolstoy,  having  to  leave 
him  alone  for  awhile,  asked  him  to  glance  at  some  of  the 
compositions  the  boys  had  written  in  school.  Taking  up 
one  of  these,  Ouspensky  read  : 

One  day,  Lyof  Nikolayevitch  (Tolstoy)  called  Savoskin  up  to 
the  blackboard  and  ordered  him  to  solve  a  problem  in  arith- 
metic. '  If  I  give  you  five  rolls,  and  you  eat  one  of  them,  how 
many  rolls  will  you  have  left  ? '  .  .  .  Savoskin  could  nohow  solve 
this  problem,  and  the  Count  pulled  his  hair  for  it.  .  .  . 

When  Tolstoy  returned  Ouspensky  pointed  out  to  him 
this  essay,  and  Tolstoy,  sighing  heavily,  c^-ossed  his  hands 
before  him  and  merely  said :  '  Life  in  this  world  is  a  hard 
task.' 

Ouspensky  considered  that  he  had  unearthed  an  extra- 
ordinary contradiction  between  theory  and  practice ;  but 
no  one  who  realises  the  difficulty  and  novelty  of  Tolstoy's 
attempt,  and  how  far  he  is  from  claiming  perfection  for 
himself  or  for  his  achievements,  should  agree  with 
Ouspensky.  On  the  contrary,  the  essay  proves  a  freedom 
of  relation  between  teacher  and  pupil,  which  would 
certainly  not  have  existed  had  the  hair-pulling  been  other 
than  impulsive  and  exceptional. 

The  school  was  closed,  or  nearly  so,  during  the  summer, 
as  most  of  the  pupils  then  helped  their  parents  with  field 
work ;  obtaining,  Tolstoy  considers,  more  mental  development 
that  way  than  they  could  have  done  in  any  school.  To  make 
up  for  this,  the  hours  of  study  in  winter  were  long. 


254  LEO  TOLSTOY 

The  classes  generally  finish  about  eight  or  nine  o'clock 
(unless  carpentering  keeps  the  elder  boys  somewhat  later),  and 
the  whole  band  run  shouting  into  the  yard,  and  there,  calling 
to  one  another,  begin  to  separate,  making  for  different  parts  of 
the  village.  Occasionally  they  arrange  to  coast  down-hill  to 
the  village  in  a  large  sledge  that  stands  outside  the  gate.  They 
tie  up  the  shafts,  throw  themselves  into  it,  and  squealing,  dis- 
appear from  sight  in  a  cloud  of  snow,  leaving  here  and  there  on 
their  path  black  patches  of  children  who  have  tumbled  out.  In 
the  open  air,  out  of  school  (for  all  its  freedom)  new  relations 
are  formed  between  pupil  and  teacher:  freer,  simpler  and  more 
trustful — those  very  relations  which  seem  to  us  the  ideal  which 
School  should  aim  at. 

Not  long  ago  we  read  Gogol's  story  Viy  [an  Earth-Spirit]  in 
the  highest  class.  The  final  scenes  affected  them  strongly,  and 
excited  their  imagination.  Some  of  them  played  the  witch, 
and  kept  alluding  to  the  last  chapters.  .   .  . 

Out  of  doors  it  was  a  moonless,  winter  night,  with  clouds  in 
the  sky,  not  cold.  We  stopped  at  the  crossroads.  The  elder 
boys,  in  their  third  year,  stopped  near  me,  asking  me  to  accom- 
pany them  further.  The  younger  ones  looked  at  us,  and 
rushed  off  down-hill.  They  had  begun  to  learn  with  a  new 
master,  and  between  them  and  me  there  is  not  the  same  confi- 
dence as  between  the  older  boys  and  myself. 

'  Well,  let  us  go  to  the  wood'  (a  small  wood  about  120  yards 
from  the  house),  said  one  of  them.  The  most  insistent  was 
Fedka,  a  boy  of  ten,  with  a  tender,  receptive,  poetic  yet  daring 
nature.  Danger  seems  to  form  the  chief  condition  of  pleasure 
for  him.  In  summer  it  always  frightened  me  to  see  how  he, 
with  two  other  boys,  would  swim  out  into  the  very  middle  of 
the  pond,  which  is  nearly  120  yai'ds  wide,  and  would  now  and 
then  disappear  in  the  hot  reflection  of  the  summer  sun,  and 
swim  under  water ;  and  how  he  would  then  turn  on  his  back, 
causing  fountains  of  water  to  rise,  and  calling  with  his  high- 
pitched  voice  to  his  comrades  on  the  bank  to  see  what  a  fine 
fellow  he  was. 

He  now  knew  there  were  wolves  in  the  wood,  and  so  he 
wanted  to  go  there.  All  agreed ;  and  the  four  of  us  went  to  the 
wood.     Another  boy,  a  lad  of  twelve,  physically  and  morally 


SCHOOL  255 

stronjT,  whom  I  will  call  Syomka,  went  on  in  front  and  kept 
calling  and  'ah-ou-ing'  with  his  ringing  voice,  to  some  one  at 
a  distance.  Pronka,  a  sickly,  mild  and  very  gifted  lad,  from  a 
poor  family  (sickly  probably  chiefly  from  lack  of  food),  walked 
by  my  side.  Fedka  walked  between  me  and  Syomka,  talking 
all  the  time  in  a  particularly  gentle  voice :  now  relating  how 
he  had  herded  horses  in  summer,  now  saying  there  was  nothing 
to  be  afraid  of,  and  now  asking,  'Suppose  one  should  jump 
out  ?  '  and  insisting  on  my  giving  some  reply.  We  did  not  go 
into  the  wood :  that  would  have  been  too  dreadful ;  but  even 
where  we  were,  near  the  wood,  it  was  darker,  and  the  road  was 
scarcely  visible,  and  the  lights  of  the  village  were  hidden  from 
view.  Syomka  stopped  and  listened  :  '  Stop,  lads !  What  is 
that  ? '  said  he  suddenly. 

We  were  silent,  and  though  we  heard  nothing,  things  seemed 
to  grow  more  gruesome. 

*  What  shall  we  do  if  it  leaps  out  .  .  .  and  comes  at  us  ? ' 
asked  Fedka. 

We  began  to  talk  about  Caucasian  robbers.  They  remem- 
bered a  Caucasian  tale  I  had  told  them  long  ago,  and  I  again 
told  them  of  'braves,'  of  Cossacks,  and  of  Hadji  Mourat.^ 
Syomka  went  on  in  front,  treading  boldly  in  his  big  boots,  his 
broad  back  swaying  regularly.  Pronka  tried  to  walk  by  my  side, 
but  Fedka  pushed  him  off  the  path,  and  Pronka — who,  probably 
on  account  of  his  poverty,  always  submitted — only  ran  up  along- 
side at  the  most  interesting  passages,  sinking  in  the  snow  up  to 
his  knees. 

Every  one  who  knows  anything  of  Russian  peasant  children 
knows  that  they  are  not  accustomed  to,  and  cannot  bear,  any 
caresses,  affectionate  words,  kisses,  hand  touchings,  and  so 
forth.  I  have  seen  a  lady  in  a  peasant  school,  wishing  to  pet  a 
boy,  say  :  '  Come,  I  will  give  you  a  kiss,  dear ! '  and  actually 
kiss  him ;  and  the  boy  was  ashamed  and  offended,  and  could 
not  understand  why  he  had  been  so  treated.  Boys  of  five  are 
already  above  such  caresses — they  are  no  longer  babies.  I  was 
therefore  particularly  struck  when  Fedka,  walking  beside  me, 
at  the  most  terrible  part  of  the  story  suddenly  touched  me 

^  The  daring  Caucasian  leader  mentioned  by  Tolstoy  in  a  letter  quoted  in 
Chapter  III. 


256  LEO  TOLSTOY 

lightly  with  his  sleeve,  and  then  clasped  two  of  my  fingers  in 
his  hand,  and  kept  hold  of  them.  As  soon  as  I  stopped  speak- 
ing, Fedka  demanded  that  I  should  go  on,  and  did  this  in 
such  a  beseeching  and  agitated  voice  that  it  was  impossible  not 
to  comply  with  his  wish. 

'  Now  then,  don't  get  in  the  way  ! '  said  he  once  angrily  to 
Pronka,  who  had  run  in  front  of  us.  He  was  so  carried  away 
as  even  to  be  cruel ;  so  agitated  yet  happy  was  he,  holding  on 
to  my  fingers,  that  he  could  let  no  one  dare  to  interrupt  his 
pleasure. 

'  Some  more  !     Some  more  !      It  is  fine  ! '  said  he. 

We  had  passed  the  wood  and  were  approaching  the  village 
from  the  other  end. 

'  Let 's  go  on,'  said  all  the  boys  when  the  lights  became 
visible.     *  Let  us  take  another  turn  ! ' 

We  went  on  in  silence,  sinking  here  and  there  in  the  rotten 
snow,  not  hardened  by  much  traffic.  A  white  darkness  seemed 
to  sway  before  our  eyes  ;  the  clouds  hung  low,  as  though  some- 
thing had  heaped  them  upon  us.  There  was  no  end  to  that 
whiteness,  amid  which  we  alone  crunched  along  the  snow. 
The  wind  sounded  through  the  bare  tops  of  the  aspens,  but 
where  we  were,  behind  the  Avoods,  it  was  calm. 

I  finished  my  story  by  telling  how  a  '  brave,'  surrounded  by 
his  enemies,  sang  his  death-song  and  threw  himself  on  his 
dagger.     All  were  silent. 

*  Why  did  he  sing  a  song  when  he  was  surrounded  }  '  asked 
Syomka. 

'  Weren't  you  told  } — He  was  preparing  for  death  ! '  replied 
Fedka,  aggrieved. 

'I  think  he  sang  a  prayer,'  added  Pronka. 

All  agreed.     Fedka  suddenly  stopped. 

'  How  was  it,  you  told  us,  your  Aunt  had  her  throat  cut  ? ' 
asked  he.  (He  had  not  yet  had  enough  horrors.)  'Tell  us! 
Tell  us!' 

I  again  told  them  that  terrible  story  of  the  murder  of  the 
Countess  Tolstoy, i  and  they  stood  silently  about  me,  watching 
my  face. 

*  Some  details  of  this  crime  are  given  in  '  Why  do  Men  Stupefy  Them- 
seWes  ?  '  in  Essays  and  letters,  published  in  the  World's  Classics. 


SCHOOL  257 

'  The  fellow  got  caught ! '  said  Syomka. 

'He  was  afraid  to  go  away  in  the  night,  while  she  was  lying 
with  her  throat  cut ! '  said  Fedka  ;  '  I  should  have  run  away  ! ' 
and  he  gathered  my  two  fingers  yet  more  closely  in  his  hand. 

We  stopped  in  the  thicket,  beyond  the  threshing-floor  at  the 
very  end  of  the  village.  Syomka  picked  up  a  dry  stick  from 
the  snow  and  began  striking  it  against  the  frosty  trunk  of  a  lime 
tree.  Hoar  frost  fell  from  the  branches  on  to  one's  cap,  and 
the  noise  of  the  blows  resounded  in  the  stillness  of  the  wood. 

'Lyof  Nikolayevitch,'  said  Fedka  to  me  (I  thought  he  was 
going  again  to  speak  about  the  Countess),  '  why  does  one  learn 
singing  ?     I  often  think,  why,  really,  does  one  .'' ' 

What  made  him  jump  from  the  teiTor  of  the  murder  to  this 
question,  heaven  only  knows;  yet  by  the  tone  of  his  voice, 
the  seriousness  with  which  he  demanded  an  answer,  and  the 
attentive  silence  of  the  other  two,  one  felt  that  there  was  some 
vital  and  legitimate  connection  between  this  question  and  our 
preceding  talk.  Whether  the  connection  lay  in  some  response 
to  my  suggestion  that  crime  might  be  explained  by  lack  of 
education  (I  had  spoken  of  that)  or  whether  he  was  testing 
himself — transferring  himself  into  the  mind  of  the  murderer  and 
remembering  his  own  favourite  occupation  (he  has  a  wonder- 
ful voice  and  immense  musical  talent)  or  whether  the  connec- 
tion lay  in  the  fact  that  he  felt  that  now  was  the  time  for 
sincere  conversation,  and  all  the  problems  demanding  solution 
rose  in  his  mind — at  any  rate  his  question  surprised  none  of  us. 

'  And  what  is  drawing  for  ?  And  why  write  well  } '  said  I, 
not  knowing  at  all  how  to  explain  to  him  what  art  is  for. 

'What  is  drawing  for.^'  repeated  he  thoughtfully.  He  really 
was  asking,  What  is  Art  for  }  And  I  neither  dared  nor  could 
explain. 

*  What  is  drawing  for  ? '  said  Syomka.  '  Why,  you  draw  any- 
thing, and  can  then  make  it  from  the  drawing.' 

*  No,  that  is  designing,'  said  Fedka.    '  But  why  draw  figures  ?  ' 
Syomka's  matter-of-fact  mind  was  not  perplexed. 

*  What  is  a  stick  for,  and  what  is  a  lime  tree  for  ? '  said  he, 
still  striking  the  tree. 

'  Yes,  what  is  a  lime  tree  for  ? '  said  I. 
'  To  make  rafters  of,'  replied  Syomka. 

H 


258  LEO  TOLSTOY 

'  But  what  is  it  for  in  summer^  when  not  yet  cut  down  ?* 

'  Then^  it 's  no  use.' 

'  No,  really/  insisted  Fedka  ;  'why  does  a  lime  tree  grow?' 

And  we  began  to  speak  of  the  fact  that  not  everything  exists 
for  use,  but  that  there  is  also  beauty,  and  that  Art  is  beauty  ; 
and  we  understood  one  another,  and  Fedka  quite  understood 
why  the  lime  tree  grows  and  what  singing  is  for. 

Pronka  agreed  with  us,  but  he  thought  rather  of  moral 
beauty :  goodness. 

Sy6mka  understood  with  his  big  brain,  but  did  not  acknow- 
ledge beauty  apart  from  usefulness.  He  was  in  doubt  (as  often 
happens  to  men  with  great  reasoning  power)  ;  feeling  Art  to 
be  a  force,  but  not  feeling  in  his  soul  the  need  of  that  force. 
He,  like  them,  wished  to  get  at  Art  by  his  reason,  and  tried  to 
kindle  that  fire  in  himself. 

'We'll  sing  Who  hath  to-morrow.  I  remember  my  part,'  said 
he.  (He  has  a  correct  ear,  but  no  taste  or  refinement  in  singing.) 
Fedka,  however,  fully  understood  that  the  lime  tree  is  good  when 
in  leaf:  good  to  look  at  in  summer;  and  that  that  is  enough. 

Pronka  understood  that  it  is  a  pity  to  cut  it  down,  because 
it,  too,  has  life  : 

'  Why,  when  we  take  the  sap  of  a  lime,  it 's  like  taking  blood.' 

Syomka,  though  he  did  not  say  so,  evidently  thought  that 
there  was  little  use  in  a  lime  when  it  was  sappy. 

It  feels  strange  to  repeat  what  we  then  said,  but  it  seems  to 
me  that  we  said  all  that  can  be  said  about  utility,  and  plastic 
and  moral  beauty. 

We  went  on  to  the  village.  F6dka  still  clung  to  my  hand ; 
now,  it  seemed  to  me,  from  gratitude.  We  all  were  nearer  one 
another  that  night  than  we  had  been  for  a  long  time.  Pronka 
walked  beside  us  along  the  broad  village  street. 

'  See,  there  is  still  a  light  in  Mazanof  s  house,'  said  he.  '  As 
I  was  going  to  school  this  morning,  Gavriika  was  coming  from 
the  pub,  as  dru-u-nk  as  could  be !  His  horse  all  in  a  lather 
and  he  beating  it !  I  am  always  sorry  for  such  things.  Really, 
why  should  it  be  beaten  .'' ' 

'  And  the  other  day,  coming  from  Toiila,  my  daddy  gave  his 
horse  the  reins,'  said  Sy6mka ;  '  and  it  took  him  into  a  snow- 
drift, and  there  he  slept — quite  drunk.' 


SCHOOL  259 

'  And  Gavnika  kept  on  beating  his  horse  over  the  eyes,  and  I 
felt  so  sorry/  repeated  Pronka  again.  '  Why  should  he  beat  it  ? 
He  got  down  and  just  flogged  it.' 

Sy6mka  suddenly  stopped. 

'Our  folk  are  already  asleep/  said  he,  looking  in  at  the 
window  of  his  crooked,  dirty  hut.  'Won't  you  walk  a  little 
longer  ? ' 

'No.' 

'  Go-o-od-bye,  Ly6f  Nikolayevitch  ! '  shouted  he  suddenly,  and 
tearing  himself  away  from  us,  as  it  were  with  an  effort,  he  ran 
to  the  house,  lifted  the  latch  and  disappeared. 

'  So  you  will  take  each  of  us  home  ?  First  one  and  then  the 
other  ? '  said  Fedka. 

We  went  on.  There  was  a  light  in  Pr6nka's  hut,  and  we 
looked  in  at  the  window.  His  mother,  a  tall  and  handsome 
but  toil-worn  woman,  with  black  eyebrows  and  eyes,  sat  at  the 
table,  peeling  potatoes.  In  the  middle  of  the  hut  hung  a 
cradle.  Pronka's  brother,  the  mathematician  from  our  second 
class,  was  standing  at  the  table,  eating  potatoes  with  salt.  It 
was  a  black,  tiny,  and  dirty  hut. 

'  What  a  plague  you  are ! '  shouted  the  mother  at  Pr6nka. 
'  Where  have  you  been  ? ' 

Pronka  glanced  at  the  window  with  a  meek,  sickly  smile. 
His  mother  guessed  that  he  had  not  come  alone,  and  her  face 
immediately  assumed  a  feigned  expression  that  was  not  nice. 

Only  Fedka  was  left. 

'The  travelling  tailors  are  at  our  house,  that  is  why  there's 
a  light  there,'  said  he  in  the  softened  voice  that  had  come  to 
him  that  evening.  '  Good-bye,  Lyof  Nikolayevitch  ! '  added  he, 
softly  and  tenderly,  and  he  began  to  knock  with  the  ring 
attached  to  the  closed  door.  '  Let  me  in ! '  his  high-pitched 
voice  rang  out  amid  the  winter  stillness  of  the  village.  It  was 
long  before  they  opened  the  door  for  him.  I  looked  in  at  the 
window.  The  hut  was  a  large  one.  The  father  was  playing 
cards  with  a  tailor,  and  some  copper  coins  lay  on  the  table. 
The  wife,  Fedka's  stepmother,  was  sitting  near  the  torch-stand, 
looking  eagerly  at  the  money.  The  young  tailor,  a  cunning 
drunkard,  was  holding  his  cards  on  the  table,  bending  them, 
and  looking  triumphantly  at  his  opponent.     Fedka's  father,  the 


260  LEO  TOLSTOY 

collar  of  his  shirt  unbuttoned,  his  brow  wrinkled  with  mental 
exertion  and  vexation,  changed  one  card  for  another,  and 
waved  his  horny  hand  in  perplexity  above  them. 

'  Let  me  in  ! ' 

The  woman  rose  and  went  to  the  door. 

'  Good-bye ! '  repeated  Fedka,  once  again.  '  Let  us  always 
have  such  walks  ! ' 

Thus  Tolstoy  for  the  second  time  found  himself  faced 
by  the  question  :  What  is  Art  ?  which  had  arisen  when  he 
spoke  to  the  Society  of  Lovers  of  Russian  Literature. 
This  time  it  was  put  to  him  by  a  ten-year-old  peasant 
boy,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that :  '  We  said  all  that  can  be 
said  about  utility,  and  plastic  and  moral  beauty.'  Twenty 
years  later,  after  achieving  the  highest  fame  as  a  literary 
artist,  he  returned  to  the  subject  and  tried  to  write  an 
essay  on  the  connection  between  life  and  Art,  thinking 
that  he  would  be  able  to  accomplish  it  at  a  single  effort. 
It  proved,  however,  as  he  tells  us,  '  that  my  views  on  the 
matter  were  so  far  from  clear,  that  I  could  not  arrange 
them  in  a  way  that  satisfied  me.  From  that  time  I  did 
not  cease  to  think  of  the  subject,  and  I  recommenced 
writing  on  it  six  or  seven  times ;  but  each  time,  after 
writing  a  considerable  part  of  it,  I  found  myself  unable  to 
bring  the  work  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion,  and  had  to 
put  it  aside."*  Only  after  another  fifteen  years'  study  and 
reflection  did  he  succeed,  in  1898,  in  producing  What  is 
Art  ?  which  raised  such  a  storm  in  the  esthetic  dovecots, 
and  induced  the  editor  of  Literature  to  declare  that  '  There 
was  never  any  reason  for  inferring  that  Count  Tolstoy's 
opinions  on  the  philosophy  of  art  would  be  worth  the 
paper  on  which  they  were  written ' ;  while  A.  B.  Walkley 
was  asserting  that  '  this  calmly  and  cogently  reasoned 
effort  to  put  art  on  a  new  basis  is  a  literary  event  of  the 
first  importance.' 

We  have,  however,  as  yet  only  reached  the  year  1862, 
and  must  not  anticipate. 


SCHOOL  261 

At  first  the  peasants  were  rather  afraid  of  the  school, 
but  before  long  they  gained  confidence  and  the  report 
became  current  among  them  that :  '  At  Yasno-Polydna 
school  they  learn  everything,  including  all  the  sciences, 
and  there  are  such  clever  masters  that  it  is  dreadful ;  it  is 
said  that  they  even  imitate  thunder  and  lightning.  Any- 
way, the  lads  understand  well,  and  have  begun  to  read  and 
write.'  Another  very  general  opinion  was  that :  '  They 
teach  the  boys  everything  (like  gentlemen's  sons)  much  of 
it  is  no  use,  but  still,  as  they  quickly  learn  to  read,  it  is 
worth  sending  the  children  there.' 

Naturally  Tolstoy,  himself  in  those  days  an  ardent 
gymnast,  had  parallel  and  horizontal  bars  put  up,  and 
gave  the  children  physical  training.  To  the  effects  of 
this  on  the  stomach,  the  village  mothers  did  not  fail  to 
attribute  any  digestive  troubles  that  befell  their  children 
from  time  to  time ;  especially  when  the  long  Lenten  fast 
was  succeeded  by  a  return  to  more  appetising  food,  or 
when,  after  such  luxuries  had  long  been  lacking,  fresh 
vegetables  again  came  into  use  in  summer. 

In  his  account  of  the  Yasno-Folyana  school,  Tolstoy 
tells  us  there  were  about  forty  pupils  enrolled,  but  more 
than  thirty  were  rarely  present  at  a  time  ;  among  them 
were  four  or  five  girls,  and  sometimes  three  or  four  male 
adults  who  came  either  for  a  month  or  for  a  whole  winter. 
Most  of  the  boys  were  from  seven  to  ten  years  old. 
(Tolstoy  says  that  children  learn  to  read  most  rapidly, 
easily  and  well,  between  the  ages  of  six  and  eight.) 

There  were  four  teachers,  and  generally  from  five  to 
seven  lessons  a  day.  The  teachers  kept  diaries  of  their 
work,  and  discussed  matters  together  on  Sundays,  when 
they  drew  up  plans  for  the  coming  week.  These  plans 
were,  however,  not  strictly  adhered  to,  but  were  constantly 
modified  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  pupils. 

Tolstoy's  sister  told  me  of  another  Sunday  occupation  at 
Ydsnaya  Polydna  in  those  days.     Tolstoy  used  to  invite  all 


262  LEO  TOLSTOY 

the  boys  from  the  neighbouring  schools  within  reach,  and 
used  to  play  games  with  them  ;  the  favourite  game  being 
Barre,  which  I  assume  to  be  a  form  of  '  Storm  the  Castle.' 

Tolstoy  came  to  the  conclusion  that  teachers  involuntarily 
strive  to  find  a  method  of  teaching  convenient  for  them- 
selves, and  that  the  more  convenient  a  method  is  for  the 
teacher,  the  less  convenient  it  is  for  the  pupil ;  and  only 
that  method  is  good  which  satisfies  the  pupils. 

His  theory  of  freedom  as  the  basis  of  success  in  instruc- 
tion, was  put  to  a  rude  test  by  the  fact  that  for  a  consider- 
able time  his  pupils  made  little  or  no  headway  in  learning 
to  read.      He  says  : 

The  simple  thought  that  the  time  had  not  yet  come  for  good 
reading  and  that  there  was  at  present  no  need  of  it,  but  that 
the  pupils  would  themselves  find  the  best  method  when  the 
need  arose,  only  recently  entered  my  head. 

After  telling  how  the  boys  first  met  the  difficulty  of 
mastering  the  mechanical  process  of  reading,  Tolstoy  goes 
on  to  tell  how  in  the  upper  class  progress  was  suddenly 
made  owing  to  what  seemed  an  accident. 

In  the  class  of  advanced  reading  some  one  book  is  used,  each 
boy  reading  in  turn,  and  then  all  telling  its  contents  together. 
They  had  been  joined  that  autumn  by  an  extremely  talented 
lad,  T,  who  had  studied  for  two  years  with  a  sacristan,  and  was 
therefore  ahead  of  them  all  in  reading.  He  reads  as  we  do, 
and  so  the  pupils  only  understand  anything  of  the  advanced 
reading  (and  then  not  very  much  of  it)  when  he  reads ;  and  yet 
each  of  them  wishes  to  read.  But  as  soon  as  a  bad  reader 
begins,  the  others  express  dissatisfaction,  especially  when  the 
story  is  interesting.  They  laugh,  and  get  cross,  and  the  bad 
reader  feels  ashamed,  and  endless  disputes  arise.  Last  month 
one  of  the  boys  announced  that  at  any  cost  he  would  manage, 
within  a  week,  to  read  as  well  as  T  ;  others  made  the  same 
announcement,  and  suddenly  mechanical  reading  became  their 
favourite  occupation.     For  an  hour  or  an  hour-and-a-half  at  a 


SCHOOL  263 

time,  they  would  sit  without  tearing  themselves  away  from  the 
books,  which  they  did  not  understand ;  and  they  began  taking 
books  home  with  them ;  and  really,  within  three  weeks,  thej" 
made  such  progress  as  could  not  have  been  expected. 

In  their  case  the  reverse  had  happened  of  what  usually 
occurs  with  those  who  learn  the  rudiments.  Generally  a  man 
learns  to  read,  and  finds  nothing  he  cares  to  read  or  understand. 
In  this  case  the  pupils  were  convinced  that  there  is  something 
worth  reading  and  understanding,  but  felt  that  they  lacked 
the  capacity ;  and  so  they  set  to  work  to  become  proficient 
readers. 

A  difficulty  of  enormous  importance  was  the  absence  of 
books  really  suitable  for  simple  folk  to  read. 

The  insoluble  problem  was  that  for  the  education  of  the 
people  an  ability  and  a  desire  to  read  good  books  is  essential. 
Good  books  are,  however,  written  in  a  literary  language  the 
people  don't  understand.  In  order  to  learn  to  understand  it, 
one  would  have  to  read  a  great  deal ;  and  people  won't  read 
willingly  unless  they  understand  what  they  read. 

Connected  with  this  difficulty  of  finding  books  suited  to 
the  understanding  of  peasants  and  of  peasant  children,  was 
the  parallel  difficulty  of  finding  literary  subjects  that  inter- 
ested them.  This  was  first  met  by  reading  the  Old 
Testament  stories  to  them  : 

A  knowledge  of  Sacred  History  was  demanded  both  by  the 
pupils  themselves  and  by  their  parents.  Of  all  the  oral  sub- 
jects I  tried  during  three  years,  nothing  so  suited  the  under- 
standing and  mental  condition  of  the  boys  as  the  Old  Testament. 
The  same  was  the  case  in  all  the  schools  that  came  under  my 
observation.  I  tried  the  New  Testament,  I  tried  Russian  History 
and  Geography,  I  tried  explanations  of  natural  phenomena  (so 
much  advocated  to-day),  but  it  was  all  listened  to  unwillingly 
and  quickly  forgotten.  But  the  Old  Testament  was  remem- 
bered and  narrated  eagerly  both  in  class  and  at  home,  and  so 
well  remembered  that  after  two  months  the  children  wrote 
Scripture  tales  from  memory  with  very  slight  omissions. 


264  LEO  TOLSTOY 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  book  of  the  childhood  of  the  race 
will  always  be  the  best  book  for  the  childhood  of  each  man. 
It  seems  to  me  impossible  to  replace  that  book.  To  alter  or 
to  abbreviate  the  Bible,  as  is  done  in  Sonntag's  and  other 
school  primers,  appears  to  me  bad.  All — every  word — in  it  is 
right,  both  as  revelation  and  as  art.  Read  about  the  creation 
of  the  world  in  the  Bible,  and  then  read  it  in  an  abbreviated 
Sacred  History,  and  the  alteration  of  the  Bible  into  the  Sacred 
History  will  appear  to  you  quite  unintelligible.  The  latter 
can  only  be  learnt  by  heart ;  while  the  Bible  presents  the 
child  with  a  vivid  and  majestic  picture  he  will  never  forget. 
The  omissions  made  in  the  Sacred  History  are  quite  unintel- 
ligible, and  only  impair  the  character  and  beauty  of  the 
Scriptures.  Why,  for  instance,  is  the  statement  omitted  in  all 
the  Sacred  Histories,  that  when  there  was  nothing,  the  Spirit  of 
God  moved  upon  the  face  of  the  waters^  and  that  after  having 
created,  God  looked  at  His  creation  and  saw  that  it  was  good, 
and  that  then  it  was  the  morning  and  evening  of  such  and 
such  a  day  ?  Why  do  they  omit  that  God  breathed  into 
Adam's  nostrils  the  breath  of  life,  and  that  having  taken  one  of 
his  ribs  He  with  the  flesh  closed  up  the  place  thereof,  and 
so  forth  ?  One  must  read  the  Bible  to  unperverted  children, 
to  understand  how  necessary  and  true  it  all  is.  Perhaps  one 
ought  not  to  give  the  Bible  to  perverted  young  ladies;  but 
when  reading  it  to  peasant  children  I  did  not  alter  or  omit  a 
single  word.  None  of  them  giggled  behind  another's  back; 
but  all  listened  eagerly  and  with  natural  reverence.  The  story 
of  Lot  and  his  daughters,  and  the  story  of  Judah's  son,  evoked 
horror  but  not  laughter.  .  .  . 

How  intelligible  and  clear  it  all  is,  especially  for  a  child,  and 
yet  how  stern  and  serious !  I  cannot  imagine  what  instruction 
would  be  possible,  without  that  book.  Yet  when  one  has 
learnt  these  stories  only  in  childhood,  and  has  afterwards  partly 
forgotten  them,  one  thinks  :  What  good  do  they  do  us  .''  Would 
it  not  be  all  the  same  if  one  did  not  know  them  at  all  ?  So  it 
seems  till,  on  beginning  to  teach,  you  test  on  other  children 
the  elements  that  helped  to  develop  you.  It  seems  as  if  one 
could  teach  children  to  write  and  read  and  calculate,  and 
could  give  them  an  idea  of  history,  geography,  and  natural 


SCHOOL  265 

phenomena,  without  the  Bible,  and  before  the  Bible;  yet 
nowhere  is  this  done  :  everywhere  the  child  first  of  all  gets 
to  know  the  Bible,  its  stories,  or  extracts  from  it.  The  first 
relations  of  the  learner  to  the  teacher  are  founded  on  that 
book.  Such  a  general  fact  is  not  an  accident.  My  very  free 
relations  with  my  pupils  at  the  commencement  of  the  Yasno- 
Polyana  school  helped  me  to  find  the  explanation  of  this 
phenomenon. 

A  child  or  a  man  on  entering  school  (I  make  no  distinction 
between  a  ten-,  thirty-,  or  seventy-year-old  man)  brings  with 
him  the  special  view  of  things  he  has  deduced  from  life  and  to 
which  he  is  attached.  In  order  that  a  man  of  any  age  should 
begin  to  learn,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  love  learning. 
That  he  should  love  learning,  he  must  recognise  the  falseness 
and  insufficiency  of  his  own  view  of  things,  and  must  scent  afar 
off  that  new  view  of  life  which  learning  is  to  reveal  to  him. 
No  man  or  boy  would  have  the  strength  to  learn,  if  the  result 
of  learning  presented  itself  to  him  merely  as  a  capacity  to 
write,  to  read,  and  to  reckon.  No  master  could  teach  if  he  did 
not  command  an  outlook  on  life  higher  than  his  pupils  possess. 
That  a  pupil  may  surrender  himself  whole-heartedly  to  his 
teacher,  one  corner  must  be  lifted  of  the  veil  which  hides  from 
him  all  the  delight  of  that  world  of  thought,  knowledge,  and 
poetry  to  which  learning  will  admit  him.  Only  by  being 
constantly  under  the  spell  of  that  bright  light  shining  ahead 
of  him,  will  the  pupil  be  able  to  use  his  powers  in  the  way  we 
require  of  him. 

What  means  have  we  of  lifting  this  corner  of  the  veil .''... 
As  I  have  said,  I  thought  as  many  think,  that  being  myself  in 
the  world  to  which  I  had  to  introduce  my  pupils,  it  would  be 
easy  for  me  to  do  this  ;  and  I  taught  the  rudiments,  explained 
natural  phenomena,  and  told  them,  as  the  primers  do,  that  the 
fruits  of  learning  are  sweet ;  but  the  scholars  did  not  believe 
me,  and  kept  aloof.  Then  I  tried  reading  the  Bible  to 
them,  and  quite  took  possession  of  them.  The  corner  of  the 
veil  was  lifted,  and  they  yielded  themselves  to  me  completely. 
They  fell  in  love  with  the  book,  and  with  learning,  and  with 
me.     It  only  remained  for  me  to  guide  them  on.  .  .  . 

To  reveal  to  the  pupil  a  new  world,  and  to  make  himj  with- 


266  LEO  TOLSTOY 

out  possessing  knowledge,  love  knowledge,  there  is  no  book  but 
the  Bible.  I  speak  even  for  those  who  do  not  regard  the  Bible 
as  a  revelation.  There  are  no  other  works — at  least  I  know 
none — w^hich  in  so  compressed  and  poetic  a  form  contain  all 
those  sides  of  human  thought  which  the  Bible  unites  in  itself. 
All  the  questions  raised  by  natural  phenomena  are  there  dealt 
with.  Of  all  the  primitive  relations  of  men  with  one  another: 
the  family,  the  State,  and  religion,  we  first  become  conscious 
through  that  book.  The  generalisations  of  thought  and  wisdom, 
with  the  charm  given  by  their  childlike  simplicity  of  form, 
seize  the  pupil's  mind  for  the  first  time.  Not  only  does  the 
lyricism  of  David's  psalms  act  on  the  minds  of  the  elder  pupils ; 
but  more  than  that,  from  this  book  every  one  becomes  con- 
scious for  the  first  time  of  the  whole  beauty  of  the  epos  in  its 
incomparable  simplicity  and  strength.  Who  has  not  wept  over 
the  story  of  Joseph  and  his  meeting  with  his  brethren  ?  Who 
has  not,  with  bated  breath,  told  the  story  of  the  bound  and 
shorn  Samson,  revenging  himself  on  his  enemies  and  perishing 
under  the  ruins  of  the  palace  he  destroys,  or  received  a  hun- 
dred other  impressions  on  which  we  were  reared  as  on  our 
mothers'  milk .'' 

Let  those  who  deny  the  educative  value  of  the  Bible  and  say 
it  is  out  of  date,  invent  a  book  and  stories  explaining  the 
phenomena  of  Nature,  either  from  general  history  or  from  the 
imagination,  which  will  be  accepted  as  the  Bible  stories  are ; 
and  then  we  will  admit  that  the  Bible  is  obsolete.  .  .  . 

Drawn  though  it  may  be  from  a  one-sided  experience,  I 
repeat  my  conviction.  The  development  of  a  child  or  a  man 
in  our  society  without  the  Bible,  is  as  inconceivable  as  that  of 
an  ancient  Greek  would  have  been  without  Homer.  The  Bible 
is  the  only  book  to  begin  with,  for  a  child's  reading.  The 
Bible,  both  in  its  form  and  in  its  contents,  should  serve  as 
a  model  for  all  children's  primers  and  all  reading  books.  A 
translation  of  the  Bible  into  the  language  of  the  common  folk, 
would  be  the  best  book  for  the  people. 

When  pupils  came  from  other  schools  where  they  had 
had  to  learn  Scripture  by  heart,  or  had  been  inoculated 
with  the  abbreviated  school-primer  versions,  Tolstoy  found 


SCHOOL  267 

that   the   Bible  had  nothing   like  as  strong  an   effect  as 
it  had  on  boys  who  came  fresh  to  it. 

Such  pupils  do  not  experience  what  is  felt  by  fresh  pupils, 
who  listen  to  the  Bible  with  beating  heart,  seizing  every  word, 
thinking  that  now,  now  at  last,  all  the  wisdom  of  the  world  is 
about  to  be  revealed  to  them. 

In  reading  the  above  passages,  it  should  be  bonie  in 
mind  that  in  Russian  usage  '  The  Bible '  means  the  Old 
Testament  only. 

Besides  the  Bible,  the  only  books  the  people  understand 
and  like,  says  Tolstoy,  are  those  written  not  for  the  people 
but  by  the  people ;  such  as  folk-tales  and  collections  of 
songs,  legends,  proverbs,  verses,  and  riddles.  There  was 
much  in  his  experience  which  fits  in  with  what  Mr.  Cecil 
Sharp  and  Miss  Neal  of  the  Esperance  Club,  have  lately 
been  demonstrating  by  their  revivals  of  English  Folk  Songs 
and  Dances  :  namely,  that  there  is  an  excellent  literature 
and  art  which  children  and  common  folk  appreciate  and 
assimilate  as  eagerly  and  excellently  as  any  one,  and  which 
it  is  the  height  of  folly  for  cultured  people  to  despise ; 
and  his  keen  perception  of  the  gap  that  separates  the  art 
and  literature  accessible  to  the  people  from  the  art  that 
by  its  artificiality  is  beyond  their  reach,  led  him  subse- 
quently to  undertake,  first  a  series  of  school  primers,  and 
then  the  re-telling  of  a  number  of  folk-tales  and  legends, 
which  have  reached  more  readers,  and  perhaps  benefited 
the  world  more,  than  anything  else  he  has  written. 

With  penmanship  it  happened  at  Yasno-Polydna  school, 
as  ■with  reading : 


'o 


The  pupils  wrote  very  badly,  and  a  new  master  introduced 
writing  from  copies  (another  exercise  very  sedate  and  easy  for 
the  master).  The  pupils  became  dull,  and  we  were  obliged  to 
abandon  calligraphy,  and  did  not  know  how  to  devise  any  way 
of  improving  their  handwriting.  The  eldest  class  discovered 
the  way  for  itself.     Having  finished  writing  the  Bible  stories, 


268  LEO  TOLSTOY 

the  elder  pupils  began  to  ask  for  their  exercise-books  to  take 
home  [probably  to  read  to  their  parents].  These  were  dirty, 
crumpled,  and  badly  written.  The  precise  mathematician  P. 
asked  for  some  paper,  and  set  to  work  to  rewrite  his  stories. 
This  idea  pleased  the  others.  '  Give  me,  too,  some  paper ! ' — 
'  Give  me  an  exercise-book  ! '  and  a  fashion  for  calligraphy  set 
in,  which  still  prevails  in  the  upper  class.  They  took  an 
exercise-book,  put  before  them  a  written  alphabet  copy  from 
which  they  imitated  each  letter,  boasting  to  one  another  of 
their  performance,  and  in  two  weeks'  time  they  had  made 
great  progress. 

Grammar  turned  out  to  be  an  unsatisfactory  subject, 
and  to  have  hardly  any  connection  with  correct  writing 
or  speaking. 

In  our  youngest — the  third — class,  they  write  what  they 
like.  Besides  that,  the  youngest  write  out  in  the  evening, 
one  at  a  time,  sentences  they  have  composed  all  together. 
One  writes,  and  the  others  whisper  among  themselves,  noting 
his  mistakes,  and  only  waiting  till  he  has  finished,  in  order  to 
denounce  his  misplaced  e  or  his  wrongly  detached  prefix,  or  some- 
times to  perpetrate  a  blunder  of  their  own.  To  write  correctly 
and  to  correct  mistakes  made  by  others,  gives  them  great 
pleasure.  The  elder  boys  seize  every  letter  they  can  get  hold 
of,  exercising  themselves  in  the  correction  of  mistakes,  and 
trying  with  all  their  might  to  write  correctly ;  but  they  cannot 
bear  grammar  or  the  analysis  of  sentences,  and  in  spite  of  a 
bias  we  had  for  analysis,  they  only  tolerate  it  to  a  very  limited 
extent,  falling  asleep  or  evading  the  classes. 

History  on  the  whole  went  badly,  except  such  bits  of 
Russian  history  as,  when  told  poetically,  aroused  patriotic 
feelings.  On  one  memorable  occasion  the  whole  class  went 
wild  with  excitement  and  eager  interest.  That  was  when 
Tolstoy,  with  a  poet's  licence,  told  of  the  defeat  of 
Napoleon''s  invasion  of  Russia  in  1812. 

Except  in  this  legendary  way,  the  teaching  of  history  to 


SCHOOL  269 

children   is,  in   Tolstoy's   opinion,   useless.      Tlie   historic 
sense  develops  later  than  the  artistic  sense : 

In  my  experience  and  practice  the  first  germ  of  interest  in 
history  arises  out  of  contemporary  events,  sometimes  as  a  result 
of  participation  in  them,  through  political  interest,  political 
ojjinions,  debates,  and  the  reading  of  newspapers.  Conse- 
quently the  idea  of  beginning  the  teaching  of  history  from 
present  times  should  suggest  itself  to  every  intelligent  teacher. 

Of  geography  as  a  subject  for  the  education  of  children, 
Tolstoy  has  an  even  lower  opinion  : 

In  Von  Vizin's  comedy  The  Minor,  when  Mitrofanoushka  was 
being  persuaded  to  learn  geography,  his  mother  said :  '  Why 
teach  him  all  the  countries  ?  The  coachman  will  drive  him 
where  he  may  have  to  go  to.'  Nothing  more  to  the  point  has 
ever  been  said  against  geography,  and  all  the  learned  men  in 
the  world  put  together  cannot  rebut  such  an  irrefragable 
argument.  I  am  speaking  quite  seriously.  What  need  was 
there  for  me  to  know  where  the  river  and  town  of  Barcelona 
are  situated,  when  for  thirty-three  years  I  have  not  once  had 
occasion  to  use  the  knowledge.''  Not  even  the  most  picturesque 
description  of  Barcelona  and  its  inhabitants  could,  I  imagine, 
conduce  to  the  development  of  my  mental  faculties. 

In  fact,  the  sweeping  conclusion  at  which  Tolstoy  arrives 
is  that : 

I  not  only  see  no  use,  but  I  see  great  harm,  in  teaching 
history  or  geography  before  the  University  is  reached. 

And  he  leaves  it  an  open  question  whether  even  the 
University  should  concern  itself  with  such  subjects. 

Drawing  was  a  favourite  lesson  with  the  boys ;  but  I 
must  confine  myself  to  a  single  extract  on  that  subject : 

We  drew  figures  from  the  blackboard  in  the  following  way  : 
I  first  drew  a  horizontal  or  a  vertical  line,  dividing  it  into  parts 
by  dots,  and  the  pupils  copied  this  line.     Then  I  drew  another 


270  LEO  TOLSTOY 

or  several  perpendicular  or  sloping  lines,  standing  m  a  certain 
relation  to  the  first,  and  similarly  divided  up.  Then  we  joined 
the  dots  of  these  different  lines  by  others  (straight  or  curved), 
and  formed  some  symmetrical  figure  vrhich,  as  it  was  gradually 
evolved,  was  copied  by  the  boys.  It  seemed  to  rae  that  this 
was  a  good  plan  :  first,  because  the  bo>  clearly  saw  the  whole 
process  of  the  formation  of  the  figure,  i  }  secondly,  because 
his  perception  of  the  co-relation  of  lines  was  developed  by  this 
drawing  from  the  board,  much  better  than  by  copying  drawings 
or  designs.  .  .  . 

It  is  nearly  always  useless  to  hang  up  a  large  complete 
picture  or  figure,  because  a  beginner  is  quite  at  a  loss  before 
it,  as  he  would  be  before  an  object  from  nature.  But  the 
growth  of  the  figure  before  his  eyes  has  an  important  meaning. 
In  this  case  the  pupil  sees  the  backbone  and  skeleton  of  the 
drawing  on  which  the  body  is  subsequently  formed.  The 
pupils  were  always  called  on  to  criticise  the  lines  and  their 
relation,  as  I  drew  them.  I  often  purposely  drew  them  wrong, 
to  find  out  in  how  far  their  judgment  of  the  co-relation  and 
incorrectness  of  the  lines  had  been  developed.  Then  again, 
when  I  was  drawing  my  figure  I  asked  the  boys  where  they 
thought  the  next  line  should  be  added ;  and  I  even  made  one 
or  other  of  them  invent  the  shape  of  the  figure  himself. 

In  this  way  I  not  only  aroused  a  more  lively  interest,  but 
got  the  boys  to  participate  freely  in  the  formation  and  develop- 
ment of  the  figures ;  and  this  prevented  the  question.  Why  ? 
which  boys  so  naturally  put  when  they  are  set  to  draw  from 
copies. 

The  ease  or  difficulty  with  which  it  was  understood,  and  the 
more  or  less  interest  evoked,  chiefly  influenced  the  choice  of 
the  method  of  instruction ;  and  I  often  quite  abandoned  what 
I  had  prepared  for  the  lesson,  merely  because  it  was  dull  or 
foreign  to  the  boys. 


In  the  singing  class,  Tolstoy  very  soon  found  that  notes 
written  on  the  staff  were  not  easily  grasped  by  the  pupils, 
and  after  using  the  staff  for  some  ten  lessons,  he  once 
showed  the  boys  the  use  of  numbers  instead,  and  from  that 


SCHOOL  271 

day  forward  they  always  asked  him  to  use  numbers,  and 
they  themselves  always  used  numbers  in  writing  music. 
This  method  is  much  more  convenient,  Tolstoy  considers, 
for  explaining  both  the  intervals  and  the  changes  of  key. 
The  pupils  who  were  not  musical  soon  dropped  out  of  the 
class,  and  the  lessons  with  those  who  were,  sometimes  went 
on  for  three  or  four  hours  at  a  stretch.  He  tried  to  teach 
them  musical  time  in  the  usual  manner,  but  succeeded  so 
badly  that  he  had  to  take  that  and  melody  separately. 
First  he  took  the  sounds  without  reference  to  time,  and  then 
beat  the  time  without  considering  the  sounds,  and  finally 
joined  the  two  processes  together.  After  several  lessons 
he  found  that  the  method  he  had  drifted  into,  combined  the 
chief  features  (though  not  some  of  the  minor  peculiarities) 
of  Chevefs  method,  which,  as  already  mentioned,  he  had 
seen  in  successful  operation  in  Paris.  After  a  very  few 
lessons,  two  of  the  boys  used  to  write  down  the  melodies  of 
the  songs  they  knew,  and  were  almost  able  to  read  music 
at  sight. 

From  the  limited  experience  he  had  in  teaching  music, 
Tolstoy — to  quote  his  own  words  almost  textually — became 
convinced  that:  (1)  To  write  sounds  by  means  of  figures 
is  the  most  profitable  method  ;  (2)  To  teach  time  separately 
from  sound  is  the  most  profitable  method  ;  (3)  For  the 
teaching  of  music  to  be  willingly  and  fruitfully  received, 
one  must  from  the  start  teach  the  art  and  not  aim  merely 
at  dexterity  in  singing  or  playing.  Spoilt  young  ladies 
may  be  taught  to  play  Burgmiiller's  exercises  ;  but  it  is 
better  not  to  teach  the  children  of  the  people  at  all,  than 
to  teach  them  mechanically  ;  (4)  Nothing  so  harms  musical 
instruction  as  what  looks  like  a  knowledge  of  music : 
namely  the  performance  of  choirs,  and  performances  at 
examinations,  speech-days,  or  in  church  ;  and  (5)  In  teaching 
music  to  the  people,  the  thing  to  be  aimed  at  is  to  impart 
our  knowledge  of  the  general  laws  of  music,  but  not  the 
false  taste  we  have  developed  among  us. 


272  LEO  TOLSTOY 

In  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  his  articles,  Tolstoy 
tells  how  he  discovered  that  Fedka  and  Sydmka  possessed 
literary  ability  of  the  highest  order.  Composition  lessons 
had  not  gone  well,  until  one  day  Tolstoy  proposed  that  the 
children  should  write  a  story  of  peasant  life  to  illustrate  a 
popular  proverb.  Most  of  them  felt  this  to  be  beyond 
their  powers,  and  went  on  with  their  other  occupations. 
One  of  them,  however,  bade  Tolstoy  write  it  himself  in 
competition  with  them,  and  he  set  to  work  to  do  so,  till 
Fedka,  climbing  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  interrupted  him 
by  reading  over  his  shoulder.  Tolstoy  then  began  reading 
out  what  he  had  composed,  and  explaining  how  he  thought 
of  continuing  the  story.  Several  of  the  boys  became  in- 
terested, not  approving  of  Tolstoy's  work,  but  criticising 
and  amending  it,  offering  suggestions  and  supplying 
details.  Sydmka  and  Fedka  particularly  distinguished 
themselves,  and  showed  extraordinary  imagination,  and 
such  judgment,  sense  of  proportion,  restraint,  and  power 
of  clothing  their  thoughts  in  words,  that  Tolstoy  was 
carried  away  by  the  interest  of  the  work  and  wrote  as 
hard  as  he  could  to  their  dictation,  having  constantly  to 
ask  them  to  wait  and  not  forget  the  details  they  had 
suggested.  Fedka — of  whom  Tolstoy  says  that '  The  chief 
quality  in  every  art,  the  sense  of  proportion,  was  in  him 
extraordinarily  developed  :  he  writhed  at  every  superfluous 
detail  suggested  by  any  of  the  other  boys,' — gradually  took 
control  of  the  work,  and  ruled  so  despotically  and  with 
such  evident  right,  that  the  others  dropped  off  and  went 
home,  except  Sydmka,  who  along  his  own  more  matter- 
of-fact  line  continued  to  co-operate. 

We  worked  from  seven  in  the  evening  till  eleven.  They 
felt  neither  hunger  nor  weariness  and  were  even  angry  with 
me  when  I  stopped  writing;  and  they  set  to  work  to  do  it 
themselves  turn  and  turn  about,  but  did  not  get  on  well  and 
soon  gave  it  up.  .  .  . 

I  left  the  lesson  because  I  was  too  excited. 


SCHOOL  273 

'What  is  the  matter  with  you?  Why  are  you  so  pale:  are 
you  ill  ?  '  asked  my  colleague.  Indeed,  only  two  or  three  times 
in  my  life  have  I  experienced  such  strong  emotion  as  during 
that  evening.  .  .  . 

Next  day  Tolstoy  could  hardly  believe  the  experience  of 
the  night  before.  It  seemed  incredible  that  a  peasant  boy, 
hardly  able  to  read,  should  suddenly  display  such  marvellous 
command  of  artistic  creative  power. 

It  seemed  to  me  strange  and  offensive  that  I,  the  author 
of  Childhood,  who  had  achieved  a  certain  success  and  was 
recognised  by  the  educated  Russian  public  as  possessing  artistic 
talent,  should  in  artistic  matters  not  merely  be  unable  to 
instruct  or  help  eleven-year-old  Syomka  and  Fedka,  but  should 
hardly  be  able,  except  at  a  happy  moment  of  excitement,  to 
keep  up  with  them  and  understand  them. 

Next  day  we  set  to  work  to  continue  the  story.  When  I 
asked  Fedka  if  he  had  thought  of  a  continuation,  he  only 
waved  his  hand  and  remarked  :  '  I  know,  I  know  !  .  .  .  Who 
will  do  the  writing?'  .  .  .  We  resumed  the  work,  and  again 
the  boys  showed  the  same  enthusiasm,  and  the  same  sense  of 
artistic  truth  and  proportion. 

Half-way  through  the  lesson  I  had  to  leave  them.  They 
wrote  two  pages  without  me,  as  just  in  feeling  and  as  true  to 
life  as  the  preceding  ones.  These  two  pages  were  rather 
poorer  in  detail,  some  of  the  details  were  not  quite  happily 
placed,  and  there  were  also  a  couple  of  repetitions.  All  this 
had  evidently  occurred  because  the  actual  writing  was  a 
difficulty  for  them.  On  the  third  day  we  had  similar  success. 
.  .  .  There  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt  or  thought  of  its 
being  a  mere  accident.  We  had  obviously  succeeded  in  find- 
ing a  more  natural  and  inspiring  method  than  any  we  had 
previously  tried. 

This  unfinished  story  was  accidentally  destroyed.  Tolstoy 
was  greatly  annoyed,  and  Fe'dka  and  Sy()mka,  though  they 
did  not  understand  his  vexation,  offered  to  stay  the  nifht 
at  his  house  and  reproduce  it.      After  eight  o'clock,  when 

s 


274  LEO  TOLSTOY 

school  was  over,  they  came,  and  (to  Tolstoy's  great  pleasure) 
locked  themselves  into  his  study,  where  at  first  they  were 
heard  laughing  but  then  became  very  quiet.  On  listening 
at  the  door  Tolstoy  heard  their  subdued  voices  discussing 
the  story,  and  heard  also  the  scratching  of  a  pen.  At 
midnight  he  knocked  and  was  admitted.  Sydmka  was 
standing  at  the  large  table,  writing  busily ;  his  lines 
running  crookedly  across  the  paper  and  his  pen  constantly 
seeking  the  inkstand.  Fedka  told  Tolstoy  to  '  wait  a  bit,' 
and  insisted  on  Sydmka's  adding  something  more,  to  his 
dictation.  At  last  Tolstoy  took  the  exercise-book  ;  and 
the  lads,  after  enjoying  a  merry  supper  of  potatoes  and 
kvds,  divested  themselves  of  their  sheepskin  coats  and  lay 
down  to  sleep  under  the  writing  table ;  their  *  charming, 
healthy,  childish,  peasant  laughter '  still  ringing  through 
the  room.    . 

The  story  just  mentioned,  and  other  stories  written  by 
the  children,  were  published  in  the  magazine ;  and  Tolstoy 
declares  them  to  be,  in  their  way,  superior  to  anything  else 
in  Russian  literature.  It  was  largely  on  the  model  of 
these  peasant  children's  stories  that,  years  later,  he  wrote 
his  own  famous  stories  for  the  people. 

The  rules  for  encouraging  composition  which  he  deduces 
from  his  experience  are  these  : 

(1)  To  offer  as  large  and  varied  a  choice  of  themes  as  pos- 
sible ;  not  inventing  them  specially  for  the  children,  but 
offering  such  as  most  interest  the  teacher  and  seem  to  him 
most  important. 

(2)  To  give  children  stories  written  by  children  to  read, 
and  to  offer  only  children's  compositions  as  models ;  because 
these  are  j aster,  finer  and  more  moral  than  those  written  by 
adults. 

(3)  (Specially  important.)  Never,  when  looking  through  the 
compositions,  make  any  remarks  to  the  children  about  the 
neatness  of  the  exercise-books,  the  handwriting,  or  the  spell- 
ing; nor,  above  all,  about  the  construction  of  the  sentences, 
or  about  logic. 


SCHOOL  275 

(4)  Since  the  difficulty  of  composition  lies  not  in  size  nor  in 
subject,  nor  in  correctness  of  language,  but  in  the  mechanism 
of  the  work,  which  consists  :  (a)  in  choosing  one  out  of  the  large 
number  of  thoughts  and  images  that  offer  themselves;  (6)  in 
choosing  words  wherewith  to  clothe  it;  (c)  in  remembering  it 
and  finding  a  fitting  place  for  it ;  (d)  in  remembering  what  has 
already  been  written,  so  as  not  to  repeat  anything  or  omit  any- 
thing, and  in  finding  a  way  of  joining  up  what  has  preceded 
to  what  succeeds ;  (e)  and  finally  in  so  managing  that  while 
thinking  and  writing  at  one  and  the  same  time,  the  one  opera- 
tion shall  not  hamper  the  other, — I,  having  these  things  in 
view,  proceeded  as  follows. 

At  first  I  took  upon  myself  some  of  these  sides  of  the  work, 
transferring  them  gradually  to  the  pupils.  At  first,  out  of  the 
thoughts  and  images  suggested,  I  chose  for  them  those  which 
seemed  to  me  best,  and  I  kept  these  in  mind  and  indicated 
suitable  places  to  insert  them,  and  I  looked  over  what  had 
been  written  to  avoid  repetitions,  and  I  did  the  writing  my- 
self, letting  them  merely  clothe  the  thoughts  and  images  in 
words.  Afterwards  I  let  them  select,  and  then  let  them  look 
over  what  had  been  written,  and  finally  they  took  on  themselves 
the  actual  writing.  .  .  . 

One  of  the  profoundest  convictions  impressed  on  Tolstoy's 
mind  by  his  educational  experiments  was  that  the  peasants 
and  their  children  have  a  large  share  of  artistic  capacity, 
and  that  art  is  immensely  important  because  of  its  human- 
ising effect  on  them,  and  because  it  arouses  and  trains 
their  faculties.  Unfortunately  the  works  :  literary,  poetic, 
dramatic,  pictorial  and  plastic,  now  produced,  are  being 
produced  expressly  for  people  possessed  of  leisure,  wealth, 
and  a  special,  artificial  training,  and  are  therefore  useless 
to  the  people.  This  deflection  of  art  from  the  service  of 
the  masses  of  whom  there  are  millions,  to  the  delectation 
of  the  classes  of  whom  there  are  but  thousands,  appears  to 
him  to  be  a  very  great  evil. 

He  says  with  reference  to  two  realms  of  art  which  he  had 
loved  passionately,  and  with  which  he  was  specially  familiar : 


276  LEO  TOLSTOY 

music  and  poetry,  that  he  noticed  that  the  demands  of  the 
masses  were  more  legitimate  than  the  demands  of  the  classes. 

Terrible  to  say,  I  came  to  the  conviction  that  all  that  we 
have  done  in  those  two  departments  has  been  done  along 
a  false  and  exceptional  path,  which  lacks  importance,  has  no 
future,  and  is  insignificant  in  comparison  with  the  demands 
upon,  and  even  with  the  samples  of,  those  same  arts  which  we 
find  put  forward  by  the  people.  I  became  convinced  that  such 
lyrical  compositions  as,  for  example,  Poiishkin's  '  I  remember 
the  marvellous  moment,'  and  such  musical  productions  as  Beet- 
hoven's Last  Symphony,  are  not  so  absolutely  and  universally 
good  as  the  song  of'  Willy  the  Steward '  or  the  melody  of'  Float- 
ing down  the  river,  Mother  Volga ' ;  and  that  Poiishkin  and 
Beethoven  please  us,  not  because  they  are  absolutely  beauti- 
ful, but  because  we  are  as  spoiled  as  they,  and  because  they 
flatter  our  abnormal  irritability  and  weakness.  How  common 
it  is  to  hear  the  empty  and  stale  paradox,  that  to  understand 
the  beautiful,  a  preparation  is  necessary  !  Who  said  so  ?  Why  .•' 
What  proves  it  ?  It  is  only  a  shift,  a  loophole,  to  escape  from 
the  hopeless  position  to  which  the  false  direction  of  our  art, 
produced  for  one  class  alone,  has  led  us.  Why  are  the  beauty  of 
the  sun  and  of  the  human  face,  and  the  beauty  of  the  sounds  of 
a  folk-song,  and  of  deeds  of  love  and  self-sacrifice,  accessible  to 
every  one,  and  why  do  they  demand  no  preparation .'' 

For  years  I  vainly  strove  to  make  my  pupils  feel  the  poetic 
beauties  of  Poiishkin  and  of  our  whole  literature,  and  a  similar 
attempt  is  being  made  by  innumerable  teachers  not  in  Russia 
alone;  and  if  these  teachers  notice  the  results  of  their  efforts, 
and  will  be  frank  about  the  matter,  they  will  admit  that  the  chief 
result  of  this  attempt  to  develop  poetic  feeling,  is  to  kill  it ;  and 
that  it  is  just  those  pupils  whose  natures  are  most  poetic  who 
show  most  aversion  to  such  commentaries.  .  .  . 

I  will  try  to  sum  up  all  that  1  have  said  above.  In  reply  to 
the  question :  Do  people  need  the  beaux  arts }  pedagogues 
usually  grow  timid  and  confused  (only  Plato  decided  the  matter 
boldly  in  the  negative).  They  say:  'Art  is  needed,  but  with 
certain  limitations ;  and  to  make  it  possible  for  all  to  become 
artists  would  be  bad  for  the  social  structure.     Certain  arts  and 


SCHOOL  277 

certain  degrees  of  art  can  only  exist  in  a  certain  class  of  society. 
The  arts  must  have  their  special  servants,  entirely  devoted  to 
them,'  They  say  :  '  It  should  be  possible  for  those  who  are 
greatly  gifted  to  escape  from  among  the  people  and  devote 
themselves  completely  to  the  service  of  art.'  That  is  the 
greatest  concession  pedagogy  makes  to  the  right  of  each 
individual  to  become  what  he  likes. 

But  I  consider  that  to  be  all  wrong.  I  think  that  a  need  to 
enjoy  art  and  to  serve  art,  is  inherent  in  every  human  being, 
to  whatever  race  or  class  he  may  belong ;  and  that  this  need 
has  its  right  and  should  be  satisfied.  Taking  that  position 
as  an  axiom,  I  say  that  if  the  enjoyment  and  production  of 
art  by  every  one,  presents  inconveniences  and  inconsistencies, 
the  reason  lies  in  the  character  and  direction  art  has  taken : 
about  which  we  must  be  on  our  guard,  lest  we  foist  anything 
false  on  the  rising  generation,  and  lest  we  prevent  it  from 
producing  something  new,  both  as  to  form  and  as  to  matter. 

Tolstoy  goes  so  far  as  to  doubt  whether,  so  long  as  no 
suitable  literature  is  produced  for  the  people,  it  is  even 
worth  their  while  to  learn  to  read. 

Looking  closer  at  the  results  of  the  rudiments  in  the  form  in 
which  they  are  supplied  to  the  masses,  I  think  most  people  will 
decide  that  the  rudiments  do  more  harm  than  good,  taking  into 
account  the  prolonged  compulsion,  the  disproportionate  develop- 
ment of  memory,  the  false  conception  of  the  completeness  of 
science,  the  aversion  to  further  education,  the  false  vanity,  and 
the  habit  of  meaningless  reading  acquired  in  these  schools.  .  .  . 

'  Let  us  print  good  books  for  the  people  ! '  .  .  .  How  simple 
and  easy  that  seems — like  all  great  thoughts !  There  is  only 
one  obstacle,  namely  that  there  exist  no  good  books  for  the 
people,  either  here  or  in  Europe.  To  print  such  books,  they 
must  first  be  produced ;  and  none  of  our  philanthropists  think 
of  undertaking  that  work  ! 

Before  closing  this  rapid  summary  of  Tolstoy's  educa- 
tional writings,  let  me  quote  a  few  more  sentences  which 
sum  up  his  essential  position  : 


:( 


278  LEO  TOLSTOY 

In  my  articles  on  Education  I  have  given  my  theoretic  reasons 
for  considering  that  only  freedom  on  the  part  of  the  pupils  to 
select  what  they  will  learn  and  how  they  will  learn  it,  can 
furnish  a  sound  basis  for  any  instruction.  In  practice  I  con- 
stantly applied  those  rules  to  the  schools  under  my  guidance 
.  .  .  and  the  results  were  always  very  good  both  for  the  teachers 
and  the  pupils,  as  well  as  for  the  evolution  of  new  methods ; 
and  this  I  assert  boldly,  for  hundreds  of  visitors  came  to  the 
Yasno-Polyana  school  and  know  how  it  worked. 

For  the  masters,  the  result  of  such  relations  with  the  pupils 
was  that  they  did  not  consider  any  methods  they  happened  to 
know,  to  be  the  best,  but  they  tried  to  discover  new  methods 
and  made  acquaintance  with  other  teachers  whose  ways  they 
could  learn.  They  tested  fresh  methods,  and  above  all,  they 
themselves  were  always  learning.  A  master  never  allowed 
himself,  in  cases  of  failure,  to  think  that  it  was  the  pupils'  fault: 
their  laziness,  naughtiness,  stupidity,  deafness  or  stuttering ; 
but  he  was  convinced  that  the  fault  was  his  own,  and  for  every 
defect  on  the  side  of  the  pupil  or  pupils,  he  tried  to  discover  a 
remedy. 

For  the  pupils  the  results  were  that  they  learnt  eagerly, 
always  begged  to  have  additional  lessons  on  winter  evenings, 
and  were  quite  free  in  class — which,  in  my  conviction  and 
experience,  is  the  chief  condition  of  successful  teaching.  Be- 
tween the  teachers  and  the  pupils  friendly  and  natural  relations 
always  arose,  without  which  it  is  not  possible  for  a  teacher  to 
know  his  pupils  fully.  .   .  . 

With  reference  to  the  methods  of  instruction,  the  results 
were  that  no  method  was  adopted  or  rejected  because  it  pleased 
or  did  not  please  the  teacher,  but  only  because  the  pupil,  with- 
out compulsion,  accepted  or  did  not  accept  it.  But  besides  the 
good  results  which  unfailingly  followed  the  adoption  of  my 
method  both  by  myself  and  by  all — more  than  twenty — other 
teachers  (I  say  '  unfailingly  '  because  we  never  had  a  single 
pupil  who  did  not  master  the  rudiments) — besides  these  results, 
the  adoption  of  the  principles  of  which  I  have  spoken  produced 
this  effect,  that  during  fifteen  years  all  the  different  modifica- 
tions to  which  my  method  has  been  subjected,  have  not  only 
not  removed  it  from  the  demands  of  the  people,  but  have 


SCHOOL  279 

brought  it  closer  and  closer  to  them.  ...  In  my  school  .  ,  . 
every  teacher,  while  bringing  his  pupils  forward,  himself  feels 
the  need  of  learning;  and  this  was  constantly  the  case  with  all 
the  teachers  I  had. 

Moreover,  the  very  methods  of  instruction  themselves — since 
they  are  not  fixed  once  for  all  but  aim  at  finding  the  easiest 
and  simplest  paths — change  and  improve  according  to  what 
the  teacher  learns  from  the  pupils'  relation  to  his  teaching. 

The  children  had  not  to  pay  anything  for  attending  the 
school,  and  the  relations  between  them  and  Tolstoy  are 
illustrated  by  the  account  a  visitor  has  given  of  seeing 
Tolstoy  rush  through  a  gate  followed  by  a  crowd  of  merry 
youngsters  who  were  snow-balling  him.  Tolstoy  was 
intent  on  making  his  escape,  but  on  seeing  the  visitor  he 
changed  his  mind,  acknowledged  his  defeat,  and  sur- 
rendered to  his  triumphant  pursuers. 

Tolstoy  does  not  stand  before  the  world  to-day  primarily 
as  a  school-master,  and  even  were  I  competent  to  deal 
with  the  subject,  it  would  exceed  the  limits  of  this 
biography  to  attempt  a  detailed  criticism  of  his  precepts 
and  practice ;  but  he  evidently  possessed,  as  he  claims  in 
one  of  his  articles,  '  a  certain  pedagogic  tact ' ;  and  he  is 
clearly  right  in  his  belief  that  the  rigid  discipline  of  schools, 
the  lack  of  freedom  and  initiative,  the  continual  demand 
for  silence  and  obedience,  and  the  refusal  to  allow  pupils  to 
criticise  the  lessons  they  receive,  have  a  constantly  stupefying 
effect. 

All  that  he  allowed  at  Ydsnaya  Polydna  was  denied  to 
us  when  I  was  at  Christ's  Hospital,  in  1868-1874  ;  and 
I  look  back  on  those  six  years  of  mental  stultification  as 
the  most  wretched  of  my  life.  At  the  preparatory  school 
in  Hertford,  so  stupefied  were  the  little  boys  by  terror 
and  discipline,  that  when  the  head-master  (traditionally 
an  incarnation  of  all  the  virtues)  became  grossly  harsh 
and  unfair,  they  could  not  see  what  was  happening  until 
bis  insanity  was  so  pronounced  that  the  doctors  bad  to 


280  LEO  TOLSTOY 

take  him  in  hand  :  an  event  that  occurred  soon  after  I  had 
left  for  the  upper  school  in  London. 

There,  one  of  the  masters  (who  evidently  did  not  believe 
that  '  history  is  experience  teaching  by  example  "■)  in  in- 
tervals between  whacking  the  boys  on  their  backs  or  hands 
with  a  long  cane,  used,  I  remember,  emphatically  to 
announce  that '  dates  and  names  are  the  most  important  parts 
of  history.'  A  Latin  master,  a  barrister,  who  was  usually 
busy  at  some  sort  of  law  work  when  he  should  have  been 
teaching  us,  used  to  set  us  to  learn  by  rote  rules  and  illus- 
trations which  we  did  not  in  the  least  understand.  On  one 
occasion  the  example  given  in  the  grammar  was  : 

Opes  irritamenta  malorum  effbdiuntur. 

Riches  the  incentives  of  crime  are  dug  out  of  the  earth. 

The  top  boy  had  learnt  the  rule  and  illustration  by  heart 
(which  I  never  could  do) ;  but,  departing  from  his  usual 
routine,  the  master  unexpectedly  asked  which  Latin  word 
corresponded  to  which  English.  Each  of  the  first  twenty- 
four  boys  in  the  class  in  turn  got  caned  and  sent  to  the 
bottom  ;  so  that  by  the  time  I,  who  had  been  last,  had 
come  to  the  top,  and  it  was  my  turn  to  reply,  only  one 
possible  combination  remained  untried,  and  I  was  able 
to  announce  that  effodmntur  meant  '  are  dug  out  of  the 
earth.'  Unluckily  there  was  another  rule  that  day,  and 
over  this  I,  in  turn,  came  to  grief,  and  was  caned  and  sent 
to  the  bottom. 

In  the  drawing  class  I  remember  doing  the  outline  of 
a  cube  to  the  master's  satisfaction,  and  being  promoted 
to  the  shading  class.  I  had  no  idea  how  to  shade,  and 
the  attempt  I  made  was  certainly  a  very  bad  one ;  but  in- 
stead of  receiving  advice  or  assistance,  my  ears  were  boxed 
so  violently  that  I  should  be  tempted  to  attribute  to  that 
assault  the  slight  deafness  from  which  I  have  since  suffered^ 
were  it  not  that  such  treatment  was  so  connnon  at  Christ's 
Hospital,  that  none  of  the  victims  whose  hearing  may  have 


SCHOOL  281 

been  impaired,  could  be  sure  to  which  of  the  masters  they 
owed  that  part  of  their  preparation  for  the  battle  of  life. 

I  feel  sure  the  stultifying  effects  of  such  cruel  and  sense- 
less treatment  would  have  been  even  more  serious,  had  not 
the  school  authorities,  by  some  strange  oversight,  allowed 
07ie  really  readable  and  interesting  periodical  to  find  a  place 
among  the  Sunday  magazines  and  other  sterilised  literature 
obtainable  in  the  School  Library.  This  one  publication, 
which  I  read  ardently  during  my  school  years,  was  Chambers's 
Journal.  It  contained  novels  by  James  Payn,  and  other 
matter  suited  to  my  powers  of  mental  digestion.  From 
smuggled  copies  of  Captain  Marryat's  novels  I  also  got 
a  good  deal  of  culture  :  far  more,  I  am  sure,  than  from  any 
of  the  lessons  we  endured. 


CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  VIII 

Tolstoy's  Educational  articles,  and 
N.  V.  Ouspensky,  Iz  Pvoshlaga, 


CHAPTER  IX 

MARRIAGE 

The  Belirs  visit  Yasnaya.  Proposal  by  thought-reading. 
The  Diary.  Marriage.  Ministers  on  magazine.  The  school 
closed  and  the  magazine  stopped.  Family  happiness. 
Health.  Fet's  visit.  Sergius  born.  Children.  The  Cossacks 
and  Polikoushka.  Bees.  Plays.  Confession.  Saving  the 
hay.  Decembrists.  Samara.  Preparations  for  War  and 
Peace.  Collected  edition.  Translations.  Dislocates  arm. 
Tatiana  born.  Fears  of  famine.  Sergius  (brother)  and 
Tanya  Behrs.  Nikolsky.  Visits  Borodino.  Tolstoy  at 
home  and  with  the  children.  Relations  with  servants. 
Masquerade.  Moscow.  Drawing  school.  Sculpture.  Ilya 
born.  Pleads  at  court-martial.  Dr.  Zaharin.  Smoke. 
Fet's  Literary  Evening.  War  and  Peace.  Schopenhauer. 
Penza.  Death  of  V.  P.  Botkin.  The  Countess  and  the  chil- 
dren's education.  English  nurse.  Tolstoy's  habits.  Visitors. 
Fet.  Tolstoy's  ardour.  Property.  Untidiness.  Respect  for 
sleep.     Newspapers.     Characteristics.     Studies  the  drama. 

To  one  who  admires  Tolstoy'^s  educational  work,  it  is 
somewhat  disconcerting  to  see  how  scornfully  he  spoke  of  it 
sixteen  years  later  in  his  Confession.  But  that  is  always 
his  way  :  the  old  is  useless  and  worthless  and  bad ;  only  the 
new,  the  unachieved,  the  fresh  ideal,  is  admirable.  For  it, 
he  decries  all  that  the  past  has  produced — including  him- 
self and  his  former  work.  He  makes  his  points  broadly 
and  powerfully,  but  to  understand,  we  must  discriminate, 
and  allow  for  an  artistic  temperament  tempting  him  to 
exaggerate.  Let  him  however  speak  for  himself,  that  the 
reader  may  judge : 

On  returning  from  abroad  I  settled  in  the  country,  and  hap- 
pened to  occupy  myself  with  peasant  schools.     This  work  was 


MARRIAGE  283 

particularly  to  my  taste,  because  in  it  I  had  not  to  face  the  falsity 
which  had  become  obvious  to  me  and  stared  me  in  the  face  when 
I  tried  to  teach  people  by  literary  means.  Here,  also,  I  acted 
in  the  name  of  Progress,  but  I  already  regarded  Progress  itself 
critically.  I  said  to  myself:  'In  some  of  its  developments 
Progress  has  proceeded  wrongly ;  and  with  primitive  peasant 
children  one  must  deal  in  a  spirit  of  perfect  freedom,  letting 
them  choose  what  path  of  Progress  they  please.'  In  reality  I 
was  ever  revolving  round  one  and  the  same  insoluble  problem, 
which  was :  How  to  teach  without  knowing  what  ?  In  the 
higher  spheres  of  literary  activity  I  had  realised  that  one  could 
not  teach  without  knowing  what;  for  I  saw  that  people  all 
taught  differently,  and  by  quarrelling  among  themselves  suc- 
ceeded only  in  hiding  their  ignorance  from  one  another.  But 
here,  with  peasant  children,  I  thought  to  evade  this  difficulty 
by  letting  them  learn  what  they  liked.  It  amuses  me  now,  when 
I  remember  how  I  shuffled  in  trying  to  fulfil  my  desire  to  teach, 
while  in  the  depth  of  my  soul  I  knew  very  well  that  I  could  not 
teach  anything  needful,  for  I  did  not  know  what  was  needful. 

After  spending  a  year  at  school  work,  I  went  abroad  a  second 
time,  to  discover  how  to  teach  others  while  myself  knowing 
nothing. 

And  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  learnt  this  abroad,  and  in 
the  year  of  the  peasants'  Emancipation  I  returned  to  Russia 
armed  with  all  this  wisdom ;  and  having  become  an  Arbiter,  I 
began  to  teach  both  the  uneducated  peasants  in  schools,  and 
the  educated  classes  through  a  magazine  I  published.  Things 
appeared  to  be  going  well,  but  I  felt  I  was  not  quite  sound 
mentally,  and  that  matters  could  not  long  continue  in  that  way. 
And  I  should  perhaps  then  have  come  to  the  state  of  despair 
at  which  I  arrived  fifteen  years  later,  had  there  not  been  one 
side  of  life  still  unexplored  by  me,  and  which  promised  me 
happiness  :  that  was  marriage. 

For  a  year  I  busied  myself  with  Arbitration  work,  the  schools, 
and  the  magazine ;  and  I  became  so  worn-out — as  a  result 
especially  of  my  mental  confusion — and  so  hard  was  my  struggle 
as  Arbiter,  so  obscure  the  results  of  my  activity  in  the  schools, 
so  repulsive  my  shuffling  in  the  magazine  (which  always 
amounted  to  one  and  the  same  thing :  a  desire  to  teach  every- 


284  LEO  TOLSTOY 

body,  and  to  hide  the  fact  that  I  did  not  know  what  to 
teach)  that  I  fell  ill,  mentally  rather  than  physically,  and  threw 
up  everything,  and  went  away  to  the  Bashkirs  in  the  steppes, 
to  breathe  fresh  air,  drink  kotanys,  and  live  an  animal  life. 

Tired  of  and  dissatisfied  with  his  work,  and  thinking 
he  detected  in  himself  signs  of  the  malady  that  had 
carried  off  two  of  his  brothers,  he  set  ofF  in  May 
1862  (accompanied  by  his  servant  Alexis  and 
two  of  his  pupils)  to  undergo  a  koumys  (soured  and 
fermented  mares"'  milk)  cure  in  the  Samara  steppes  east  of 
the  Volga, 

He  went  first  to  Moscow,  and  his  friend  Raevsky  has  told 
how  Tolstoy  came  up  to  him  in  the  Club  there,  and  men- 
tioned with  great  indignation  and  vexation  that  his  brother 
was  playing  cards  and  had  lost  Rs.  7000  in  a  few  hours. 
'  How  can  men  do  such  things  ?  "*  said  Tolstoy.  Half-an- 
hour  later  Raevsky  saw  Leo  Tolstoy  himself  playing  Chinese 
billiards  (a  game  something  like  bagatelle,  played  on  a 
board  with  wire  impediments)  and  learnt  that  he  had  lost 
Rs.  1000  to  the  stranger  with  whom  he  was  playing! 
This  was,  I  believe,  the  last  occasion  on  which  Tolstoy  played 
any  game  for  stakes  he  found  it  difficult  to  pay.  The 
occurrence  led  to  the  premature  publication  of  his  novel 
The  Cossacks,  which  he  had  had  in  hand  for  several  years, 
but  to  which  he  still  intended  to  add  a  second  part.  Not 
having  Rs.  1000  (then  about  <£*150)  available,  he  let 
Katkdf,  the  well-known  publicist,  editor  of  the  Moscow 
Gazette  and  of  the  monthly  Russian  Messenger,  have  the 
story  for  that  sum  paid  in  advance.  This  '  Tale  of  the 
Year  1852,"  as  the  sub-title  runs,  is  based  on  Tolstoy's 
Caucasian  experiences.  The  circumstances  which  led  to 
its  premature  publication  made  the  work  repugnant  to  him, 
and  he  never  completed  it. 

Among  those  to  whom  he  mentioned  the  occurrence  were 
the  Behrs,  of  whom  Miss  Sophie  was  already  so  interested 
in  him  that  she  wept  at  the  news.      At  their  home  he  was 


MARRIAGE  285 

always  a  welcome  and  intimate  guest,  and  as  time  went  on 
he  saw  more  and  more  of  that  family. 

From  Moscow  he  proceeded  to  Tve'r  by  rail,  and  thence 
by  steamer  down  the  VcSlga  to  Samara. 

At  Kazan  he  stopped  to  visit  his  relation  V.  I.  Ushkof : 
and  from  Samara  he  wrote  to  Aunt  Tatiana : 

27  May  1862. 

To-day  I  shall  start  to  drive  ninety  miles  from  Samara  to 
Karal^'k.  .  .   . 

I  have  had  a  beautiful  journey;  the  country  pleases  me  very 
much ;  my  health  is  better,  i.e.  I  cough  less.  Alexis  and  the 
boys  are  alive  and  well,  as  you  may  tell  their  relations.  Please 
write  me  about  Sergey,  or  let  him  do  so.  Greet  all  my  dear 
comrades  [probably  the  masters  in  the  schools]  for  me,  and 
request  them  to  write  me  of  what  goes  on,  and  of  how  they  are 
getting  on.  .  .  . 

In  another  letter,  dated  28th  June  1862,  he  wrote  : 

It  is  now  a  month  since  I  had  any  news  of  you  or  from  home  ; 
please  write  me  about  everybody :  first,  our  family ;  secondly, 
the  (University)  students  [who  acted  as  masters  in  the  schools] 
etc.  Alexis  and  I  have  grown  fatter,  he  especially,  but  we  still 
cough  a  little,  and  again  he  especially.  We  are  living  in  a 
Tartar  tent ;  the  weather  is  beautiful.  I  have  found  my  friend 
Stolfpin — now  Ataman  in  Ouralsk — and  have  driven  over  to 
see  him ;  and  have  brought  back  from  there  a  secretary ;  but  I 
dictate  and  write  little.  Idleness  overcomes  one  when  drink- 
ing koumys.  In  two  weeks'  time  I  intend  to  leave  here,  and  I 
expect  to  be  home  by  St.  Elijah's  day  [20  July,  old  style].  I  am 
tormented  in  this  out-of-the-way  place  by  not  knowing  what  is 
going  on,  and  also  by  the  thought  that  I  am  horribly  behind- 
hand with  the  publication  of  the  magazine.  I  kiss  your 
hand.  .   .  . 

Just  when  Tolstoy  was  leaving  Karalyk  a  most  unex- 
pected event  was  occurring  at  Yasnaya,  where  his  sister 
Mary  was  staying  with  Aunt  Tatiana.  Owing  to  the 
denunciation  of  a  police  spy  who,  among  other  lies,  pre- 
tended to  have  discovered  a  secret  door  in  Tolstoy's  house, 


286  LEO  TOLSTOY 

the  police  authorities  decided  to  search  his  estate ;  and  one 
morning — to  the  immense  astonishment  of  the  neighbour- 
ing peasants — police,  watchmen,  officials,  and  gendarmes, 
under  the  command  of  a  Colonel,  appeared  upon  the 
scene !  In  the  school-house  a  photographic  apparatus 
was  found  :  a  thing  sufficiently  rare  in  a  Russian 
village  in  those  days  to  evoke  the  suspicious  inquiries 
of  the  gendarme  officer,  to  whom  one  of  the  student- 
teachers  chaffingly  volunteered  the  information  that  it 
was  kept  to  photograph  Herzen  (the  celebrated  exile, 
then  living  in  London)  ;  but  nowhere  were  any  secret  doors 
found. 

The  floors  of  the  stables  were  broken  up  with  crowbars 
to  see  if  anything  was  hidden  there.  The  pond  was  dragged, 
but  nothing  more  incriminating  than  crayfish  and  carp  was 
found.  All  the  cupboards,  drawers,  boxes  and  desks  in 
the  house  were  opened  and  searched,  and  the  ladies  were 
frightened  almost  to  death.  A  police-officer  from  Toula 
would  not  even  allow  Tolstoy's  sister  to  leave  the  library 
till  he  had  finished  reading  aloud  in  her  presence  and 
in  that  of  two  gendarmes,  Tolstoy ""s  Diary  and  letters, 
which  contained  the  most  intimate  secrets  of  his  life  and 
which  he  had  kept  private  since  he  was  sixteen  years 
old. 

Finding  nothing  incriminating  at  Ydsnaya,  the  repre- 
sentatives of  law  and  order  next  betook  themselves  to  the 
other  schools  working  in  conjunction  with  Tolstoy,  and 
there  also  they  turned  tables  and  cupboards  upside  down, 
seized  exercise-books  and  primers,  arrested  the  teachers, 
and  spread  the  wildest  suspicions  abroad  among  the  peasants, 
to  whom  school  education  was  still  a  novelty  held  somewhat 
in  suspicion. 

On  receiving  news  of  this  event  Tolstoy  at  once  wrote 
to  his  aunt,  the  Countess  A.  A.  Tolstoy,  asking  her  to  speak 
to  those  who  knew  him  well  and  had  influence,  and  on 
whose  aid  he  could  rely.      Said  he : 


MARRIAGE  287 

I  cannot  and  will  not  let  this  affair  pass.  All  the  activity  in 
which  I  found  solace  and  happiness,  has  been  spoilt.  Aunty  is  so 
ill  from  fright  that  she  will  probably  not  recover.  The  peasants 
no  longer  regard  me  as  an  honest  man — an  opinion  I  had  earned  in 
the  course  of  years — but  as  a  criminal,  an  incendiary,  or  a  coiner, 
whose  cunning  alone  has  enabled  him  to  escape  punishment. 

'Eh,  man,  you've  been  found  out!  Don't  talk  to  us  any 
more  about  honesty  and  justice — you've  hardly  escaped  hand- 
cuffs yourself! ' 

From  the  landed  proprietors  I  need  not  say  what  a  cry  of 
rapture  went  up.  Please  write  to  me  as  soon  as  possible,  after 
consulting  Perovsky  [Count  V.  A.  P.]  and  Alexey  Tolstoy 
[Count  A.  T.,  the  dramatist  and  poet]  and  any  one  else  you 
like,  as  to  how  I  am  to  Avrite  to  the  Emperor  and  how  best 
to  present  my  letter.  It  is  too  late  to  prevent  the  injury 
the  thing  has  done,  or  to  extricate  myself,  and  there  is  no 
way  out  except  by  receiving  satisfaction  as  public  as  the 
insult  has  been ;  and  this  I  have  firmly  resolved  on.  I  shall 
not  join  Herzen ;  he  has  his  way,  I  have  mine.  Neither  will 
I  hide.  .  .  .  But  I  will  loudly  announce  that  I  am  selling  my 
estate  and  mean  to  leave  Russia,  where  one  cannot  know  from 
moment  to  moment  what  awaits  one.  .  .  . 

At  the  end  of  an  eight-page  letter  he  mentions  that  the 
Colonel  of  gendarmes,  on  leaving,  threatened  to  renew  his 
search  till  he  discovered  '  if  anything  is  hidden ' ;  and 
Tolstoy  adds,  '  I  have  loaded  pistols  in  my  room,  and  am 
waiting  to  see  how  this  matter  will  end."* 

He  also  remarked  :  '  I  often  say  to  myself,  How  exceed- 
ingly fortunate  it  was  that  I  was  not  at  home  at  the  time  ! 
Had  I  been  there,  I  should  certainly  now  be  awaiting  my 
trial  for  murder  ! ' 

Soon  after  this,  Alexander  II  spent  some  time  at  Petrdvsky 
Park,  near  Moscow.  There  Tolstoy  presented  a  letter 
claiming  reparation,  which  an  aide-de-camp  undertook  to 
give  to  the  Emperor ;  and  some  weeks  later  the  Governor 
of  Toula  transmitted  to  Tolstoy  the  Emperor's  expression 
of  regret  for  what  had  occurred. 


288  LEO  TOLSTOY 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  effect  such  an  outrage  as  this 
police-search  would  have  on  a  man  of  Tolstoy's  acute  self- 
esteem,  and  how  it  would  intensify  his  hatred  of  Government. 

After  his  return  from  Samdra,  he  saw  more  of  the  Behrs 
than  ever.  Fet,  whom  he  introduced  to  them,  thus  records 
his  impressions  of  the  family  : 

I  found  the  doctor  to  be  an  amiable  old  gentleman  of  polite 
manners,  and  his  wife  a  handsome,  majestic  brunette  who 
evidently  ruled  the  house.  I  refrain  from  describing  the  three 
young  ladies,  of  whom  the  youngest  had  an  admirable  contralto 
voice.  They  all,  notwithstanding  the  watchful  supervision  of 
their  mother  and  their  irreproachable  modesty,  possessed  that 
attractive  quality  which  the  French  designate  by  the  words 
du  chien  [lively,  full  of  go].  The  service  and  the  dinner  were 
admirable. 

Madame  Behrs  was  on  very  friendly  terms  with  Tolstoy's 
sister,  the  Countess  Mary  ;  and  before  he  went  abroad 
Tolstoy  had  frequently,  at  the  house  of  the  latter,  played 
with  the  children  of  both  families.  In  1862  he  often  visited 
the  Behrs  at  Pokrdvskoe-Glebovo,  where  they  lived  in  a 
ddtcha  (country  house)  they  occupied  every  summer.  He 
nearly  always  walked  the  eight  miles  from  Moscow,  and 
often  took  long  rambles  with  the  family  besides.  The  girls 
had  been  educated  at  home,  but  Sophia  Audrey evna,  the 
second  daughter,  had  passed  a  University  examination 
entitling  her  to  the  diploma  qualifying  to  teach  both  in 
private  and  in  State  schools. 

We  may  judge  of  Tolstoy's  state  of  mind  at  this  time  by 
an  entry  in  his  Diary,  dated  23rd  August :  '  I  am  afraid  of 
myself.  What  if  this  be  only  a  desire  for  love  and  not  real 
love  ?  I  try  to  notice  only  her  weak  points,  but  yet  I  love.' 
And  again,  '  I  rose  in  good  health,  with  a  particularly  clear 
head,  and  wrote  easily,  though  the  matter  was  feeble.  Then 
I  felt  more  sad  than  I  have  done  for  a  long  time.  I  have 
no  friends  at  all.  I  am  alone.  I  had  friends  when  I  served 
Mammon,  but  have  none  when  I  serve  truth.' 


MARRIAGE  289 

On  26th  August  he  notes  that  Sdnya  (Miss  Sophia  Behrs) 
gave  him  a  story  to  read,  written  by  herself,  and  her  de- 
scription of  the  hero  as  a  man  of  'unusually  unattrac- 
tive appearance,  and  changeable  convictions  ^  hit  him  hard  ; 
but  he  was  relieved  to  find  that  it  was  not  meant  for  him. 

On  his  thirty-fourth  birthday,  28th  August  1862  (old  style) 
he  jotted  down  in  his  Diary  the  words  :  '  Ugly  mug  !  Do  not 
think  of  marriage;  your  calling  is  of  another  kind.' 

About  this  time  the  Behrs  paid  a  two  weeks'  visit  to 
Madame  Behrs'  father's  estate  of  Ivitsa,  some  thirty  miles 
from  Yasnaya,  and  en  route  they  stopped  a  couple  of 
days  at  Yasnaya  to  visit  the  Countess  Mary.  The  day 
after  their  arrival  a  picnic  party  was  arranged  with  some 
neighbours.  It  was  haymaking  time,  and  there  was  much 
haystack  climbing  by  the  picknickers.  The  general  im- 
pression was  that  Tolstoy  was  in  love  with  Lisa,  the  eldest 
Miss  Behrs :  this  opinion  being  fostered  by  the  idea,  then 
common  in  Russia,  that  an  elder  daughter  should  be  dis- 
posed of  before  a  younger  daughter  may  be  courted. 

A  few  days  later  Tolstoy  followed  the  Behrs  to  Ivitsa  • 
and  here  the  scene  occurred  which  he  has  utilised  in  Anna 
Karenina  when  describing  Levin's  proposal  to  Kitty — a  scene 
in  which  something  approaching  thought-reading  takes  place. 

Sitting  at  a  card-table  with  Miss  Sophia  Behrs,  Tolstoy 
wrote  the  initial  letters  of  the  sentence  : 

'  In  your  family  a  false  opinion  exists  about  me  and  your 
sister  Lisa ;  you  and  Tanitchka  should  destroy  it.' 

Miss  Sophia  read  the  letters,  understood  what  words  they 
stood  for,  and  nodded  her  head. 

Tolstoy  then  wrote  the  initial  letters  of  another  sentence : 

*  Your  youth  and  need  of  happiness,  to-day  remind  me 
too  strongly  of  my  age  and  the  impossibility  of  happiness.' 

The  nature  of  the  Russian  language  (with  its  inflections 
instead  of  particles,  and  the  absence  of  articles)  somewhat 
diminishes  the  miracle  ;  but  the  test  was  a  very  severe  one, 
and  again  the  girl  guessed  the  words  aright.  The  two 
understood  one  another,  and  tlieir  fate  was  practically  sealed. 

T 


290  LEO  TOLSTOY 

The  Behrs  returned  to  Pokrdvskoe-Glebovo  in  September. 
Tolstoy  accompanied  them  on  the  carriage -journey  back  to 
Moscow  and  visited  them  every  day,  bringing  music  for  the 
young  ladies,  playing  the  piano  for  them,  and  accompanying 
the  youngest — whom  he  nick-named  'Madame  Viardot' 
after  the  famous  singer. 

On  the  17th  of  that  month  (the  name's  day  of  Sophia) 
Tolstoy  handed  his  future  wife  a  letter  containing  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage,  which  she  gladly  accepted.  Her  father, 
displeased  that  the  second  daughter  should  be  preferred  to 
the  eldest,  at  first  refused  his  assent.  But  Tolstoy  was 
strenuously  insistent— I  have  even  heard  that  he  threatened 
to  shoot  himself — and  the  doctor  soon  yielded  to  the  united 
persuasion  of  daughter  and  suitor. 

The  bridegroom's  sense  of  honour  led  him  to  hand  his 
future  wife  the  Diary,  in  which,  mingled  with  hopes,  prayers, 
self-castigations  and  self-denunciations,  the  sins  and  excesses 
of  his  bachelorhood  were  recorded.  To  the  girl,  who  had 
looked  upon  him  as  a  personification  of  the  virtues,  this 
revelation  came  as  a  great  shock  ;  but  after  a  sleepless  night 
passed  in  weeping  bitterly  over  it,  she  returned  the  Diary 
and  forgave  the  past. 

To  get  married  it  was  necessary  first  to  confess  and 
receive  the  eucharist.  Tolstoy's  own  experiences  in  this 
matter  are  narrated  in  Chapter  I  of  Part  V  of  Anna 
Karhiina,  where  they  are  attributed  to  Levin. 

The  marriage  took  place  witiiin  a  week  of  the  proposal, 
namely  on  23rd  September  1862,  in  the  Court  church  of  the 
Kremlin,  the  bridegroom  being  thirty-four  and  the  bride 
eighteen  years  of  age.  When  the  ceremony  was  over  the 
couple  left  Moscow  in  a  doi-meuse  (sleeping  carriage),  and 
drove  to  Yasnaya  Polydna,  where  Tolstoy's  brother  Sergey 
and  Aunt  Tatiana  were  awaiting  them. 

Fet  records  the  letter  in  which  Tolstoy  informed  him  of 
his  marriage : 

FexousHKA  [an  endearing  diminutive  of  Fet]  Uncle,  or  simply 


Tolstoy  in  1862,  the  year  ok  his  marriage. 


MARRIAGE  291 

Dear  Friend  AfanIsy  Afanasyevitch  ! — I  have  been  married 
two  weeks  and  am  happy,  and  am  a  new,  quite  a  new  man.  I 
want  to  visit  you,  but  cannot  manage  it.  When  shall  I  see  you  ? 
Having  come  to  myself,  I  feel  that  I  value  you  very,  very 
much.  We  have  so  many  unforgettable  things  in  common  : 
Nikolenka,  and  much  besides.  Do  drive  over  and  make  my 
acquaintance.  I  kiss  Marya  Petrovna's  hand.  Farewell,  dear 
friend.     I  embrace  you  with  all  my  heart. 

In  another  letter  belonging  to  the  same  period  he  writes: 

I  am  writing  from  the  country,  and  while  I  write,  from  up- 
stairs whei'e  she  is  talking  to  my  brother,  I  hear  the  voice  of 
my  vdfe,  whom  I  love  more  than  the  whole  world.  I  have 
lived  to  the  age  of  thirty-four  without  knowing  that  it  was 
possible  to  love,  and  to  be  so  happy.  When  I  am  more  tranquil 
I  will  write  you  a  long  letter.  I  should  not  say  '  more  tranquil,' 
for  I  am  now  more  tranquil  and  clear  than  I  have  ever  been, 
but  I  should  say,  '  when  I  am  accustomed  to  it.'  At  present  I 
have  a  constant  feeling  of  having  stolen  an  undeserved,  illicit, 
and  not-for-me-intended  happiness.  There  .  .  .  she  is  coming ! 
I  hear  her,  and  it  is  so  good  ! . .  .  And  why  do  such  good  people  as 
you,  and,  most  wonderful  of  all,  such  a  being  as  my  wife,  love  me."* 

It  did  not  much  disturb  his  happiness,  when,  before 
Tolstoy  had  been  married  a  fortnight,  an  event  occurred  which 
might  easily  have  led  to  very  disagreeable  consequences.  On 
3rd  October  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  called  the  attention 
of  the  Minister  of  Education  to  the  harmful  nature  of  the 
Yasnaya  Poly  ana  magazine.     This  is  what  he  wrote : 

A  careful  perusal  of  the  educational  magazine,  Yasnaya 
Polydna,  edited  by  Count  Tolstoy,  leads  to  the  conviction  that 
that  magazine  .  .  .  frequently  propagates  ideas  which  apart 
from  their  incorrectness  are  by  their  very  tendency  harmful. 
...  I  consider  it  necessary  to  direct  your  Excellency's  atten- 
tion to  the  general  tendency  and  spirit  of  that  magazine,  which 
often  infringes  the  fundamental  rules  of  religion  and  morality. 
...  I  have  the  honour  to  inform  you.  Sir,  of  this,  in  the  ex- 
pectation that  you  may  be  inclined  to  consider  it  desirable  to 
direct  the  special  attention  of  the  Censor  to  this  publication. 


292  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Fortunately  the  decision  of  the  matter  did  not  lie  with 
the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  but  with  the  Minister  of 
Education,  who  on  receiving  this  communication  had  the 
magazine  in  question  carefully  examined,  and,  on  24th 
October,  replied  that  he  found  nothing  harmful  or  contrary 
to  religion  in  its  tendency.  It  contained  extreme  opinions 
on  educational  matters,  no  doubt,  but  these,  he  said,  should 
be  criticised  in  educational  periodicals  rather  than  pro- 
hibited by  the  Censor.     'In  general,'  added  the  Minister: 

I  must  say  that  Count  Tolstoy's  educational  activity  deserves 
full  respect,  and  the  Ministry  of  Education  is  bound  to  assist 
and  co-operate  with  him,  though  it  cannot  share  all  his  views, 
some  of  which  after  full  consideration  he  will  himself  probably 
reject. 

Other  things  besides  the  suspicion  in  which  he  was  held 
by  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  tended  to  discourage  Tolstoy. 
His  magazine  had  few  subscribers  and  attracted  but  little 
attention.  The  year's  issue  was  causing  him  a  loss  of  some- 
thing like  Rs.  3000  (say  about  .£450) — a  larger  sum  than 
he  could  well  afford  to  throw  away.  So  he  decided  to  dis- 
continue it  after  the  twelfth  number.  The  month  after 
his  marriage  he  also  closed  the  school,  which  was  too  great 
a  tax  on  his  time  and  attention. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  the  obstacles  placed  in  his 
way  by  the  Government  turned  him  aside  from  educational 
work,  but  in  speaking  to  me  about  it  Tolstoy  remarked 
that  really  the  main  factor  was  his  marriage,  and  his  pre- 
occupation with  family  life. 

Both  he  and  his  wife  were  absorbed  by  their  personal 
happiness,  though  from  time  to  time  small  quarrels  and 
misunderstandings  arose  between  them.  So  impulsive  and 
strenuous  a  nature  as  Tolstoy's  was  sure  to  have  its  fluctua- 
tions of  feeling,  but  on  the  whole  the  ties  binding  the 
couple  together  grew  stronger  and  closer  as  the  months 
passed  into  years. 

The  Countess's  parents  used  to  say  :  '  We  could  not  have 


MARRIAGE  293 

wished  for  greater  happiness  for  our  daughter.'  The  Countess 
not  only  loved  Tolstoy  dearly  as  a  husband,  but  had  the 
deepest  admiration  for  him  as  a  writer.  He  on  his  side 
often  said  that  he  found  in  family  life  the  completest  hap- 
piness, and  in  Sophia  Andreyevna  not  only  a  loving  wife 
and  an  excellent  mother  for  his  children,  but  an  admirable 
assistant  in  his  literary  work,  in  which,  owing  to  his  careless 
and  unmethodical  habits,  an  intelligent  and  devoted  amanu- 
ensis was  invaluable.  The  Countess  acquired  remarkable 
skill  in  deciphering  his  often  extremely  illegible  handwriting, 
and  was  sometimes  able  to  guess  in  a  quite  extraordinary 
way  the  meaning  of  his  hasty  jottings  and  incomplete 
sentences. 

One  drawback  to  their  almost  complete  happiness  lay  in 
the  fact  that  though  active  and  possessed  of  great  physical 
strength,  Tolstoy  seldom  enjoyed  any  long  periods  of  un- 
interrupted good  health.  In  his  correspondence  we  find 
frequent  references  to  indisposition.  In  early  manhood,  he 
seems  to  have  distended  his  stomach,  and,  especially  after 
the  hardships  he  endured  during  the  war  of  1854-5,  he  was 
subject  to  digestive  troubles  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

Town  life  did  not  attract  him.  He  had  never  felt  at  ease 
in  what  is  called  high  society ;  nor  were  his  means  large 
enough  to  enable  him  to  support  a  wife  and  family  in  a 
good  position  in  town.  Still,  towards  the  close  of  the  year 
of  his  marriage,  he  and  the  Countess  spent  some  weeks  in 
Moscow. 

They  were  however  soon  back  at  Yasnaya.     In  February 
Fet  visited  them  there,  and  found  them  overflowing 
with  life  and  happiness. 

On  15th  May,  after  the  Tolstoys  and  Fet  had  by  some 
chance  just  missed  meeting  at  the  house  of  a  neighbouring 
proprietor,  Tolstoy  wrote  to  his  friend : 

We  just  missed  seeing  you,  and  how  sorry  I  am  that  we  did  ! 
How  much  I  want  to  talk  over  with  you.  Not  a  day  passes 
without  our  mentioning  you  several  times.  My  wife  is  not  at 
all '  playing  with  dolls.'      Don't  you  insult  her.      She  is  my 


294  LEO  TOLSTOY 

serious  helpmate,  though  now  bearing  a  burden  from  which  she 
hopes  to  be  free  early  in  July.  What  won't  she  do  afterwards? 
We  are  iifanizing  ^  little  by  little.  I  have  made  an  important 
discovery,  which  I  hasten  to  impart  to  you.  Clerks  and  over- 
seers are  only  a  hindrance  to  the  management  of  an  estate. 
Try  the  experiment  of  dismissing  them  all;  then  sleep  ten  hours 
a  day,  and  be  assured  that  everything  will  get  along  7iGt  worse. 
I  have  made  the  experiment  and  am  quite  satisfied  with  its 
success. 

How,  oh  how,  are  we  to  see  one  another  ?  If  you  go  to 
Moscow  with  Marya  Petrovna  and  do  not  come  to  visit  us,  it 
will  be  dreadful  offensive.  (My  wife,  who  was  reading  this 
letter,  prompted  that  sentence.)  I  wanted  to  write  much,  but 
time  lacks.  I  embrace  you  with  all  my  heart;  my  wife  bows 
profoundly  to  you,  and  I  to  your  wife. 

Business :  When  you  are  in  Orel,  buy  me  20  poods  [720  lbs.] 
of  various  kinds  of  twine,  reins,  and  shaft-traces,  if  they  cost 
less  than  Rs.  2.30  per  pood  including  carriage,  and  send  them 
me  by  a  carter.     The  money  shall  be  paid  at  once. 

Fet  soon  availed  himself  of  the  invitation,  and  after  driv- 
ing past  the  low  towers  which  mark  the  entrance  to  the 
birch  alley  leading  to  the  house,  he  came  upon  Tolstoy 
eagerly  directing  the  dragging  of  a  lake  and  taking  all 
possible  care  that  the  carp  should  not  escape.  The  Countess, 
in  a  white  dress,  came  running  down  the  alley,  with  a  huge 
bundle  of  barn-door  keys  hanging  at  her  waist.  After 
cordially  greeting  the  visitor,  she,  notwithstanding  her 
'exceedingly  interesting  condition,"*  leapt  over  the  low  rail- 
ing between  the  alley  and  the  pond.  It  will  however  be 
better  to  quote  Fet's  own  account  of  his  visit : 

'Sonya,  tell  Nesterka  to  fetch  a  sack  from  the  bam,  and  let 
us  go  back  to  the  house,'  said  Tolstoy — who  had  already 
greeted  me  warmly,  without  losing  sight  of  the  carp-capturing 
operations  the  while. 

The  Countess  immediately  detached  a  huge  key  from  her 

^  This  word,  when  first  invented  by  Nicholas  Tolstoy,  meant  ploughing, 
but  it  had  by  now  come  to  mean  farming  in  general. 


MARRIAGE  295 

belt  and  gave  it  to  a  boy,  who  started  at  a  run  to  fulfil 
the  order. 

*  There/  remarked  the  Count,  '  you  have  an  example  of  our 
method.  We  keep  the  keys  ourselves ;  and  all  the  estate 
business  is  carried  on  by  boys.' 

At  the  animated  dinner  table,  the  carp  we  had  seen  captured 
made  their  appearance.  We  all  seemed  equally  at  ease  and 
happy.  .  .   . 

That  evening  was  one  truly  '  filled  with  hope.'  It  was  a 
sight  to  see  with  what  pride  and  bright  hope  Tatiana  Alexan- 
drovna,  the  kindest  of  aunts,  regarded  the  young  people  she  so 
loved ;  and  how,  turning  to  me,  she  said  frankly,  '  You  see, 
with  mon  cher  Leon  of  course  things  could  not  be  otherwise.' 

As  to  the  Countess,  life  to  one  who  in  her  condition  leapt 
over  fences,  could  not  but  be  lit  up  with  the  brightest  of  hopes. 
The  Count  himself,  Avho  had  passed  his  whole  life  in  an  ardent 
search  for  novelties,  evidently  at  this  period  entered  a  world 
till  then  unknown,  in  the  mighty  future  of  which  he  believed 
with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  young  artist.  I  myself,  during 
that  evening,  was  carried  away  by  the  general  tone  of  careless 
happiness,  and  did  not  feel  the  stone  of  Sisyphus  oppressing 
me. 

Soon  after  this  visit,  on  28th  June  1863,  a  son,  Sergius, 
was  born.  During  the  first  eleven  years  of  marriage,  the 
Countess  bore  her  husband  eight  children,  and  another  five 
during  the  next  fifteen  years :  making  in  all,  thirteen 
children  in  twenty-six  years. 

But  we  must  turn  back  a  few  months  to  mention  the 
stories  by  Tolstoy  which  appeared  during  this  year. 

In  the  January  number  of  the  Russian  Messenger^  Katkdf 
had  published  The  Cossacks,  which  Tolstoy  had  kept  back 
to  revise,  and  had  only  delivered  in  December. 

In  the  February  number  of  the  same  magazine  appeared 
PoUkoushka,  the  story  of  a  serf  who,  having  lost  some 
money  belonging  to  his  mistress,  hangs  himself. 

These  stories  are  referred  to  in  the  following  letter  from 
Tolstoy  to  Fet,  undated,  but  written  in  1863 : 

Both   your  letters  were   equally  important,  significant,  and 


296  LEO  TOLSTOY 

agreeable  to  me,  dear  Afanasy  Afanasyevitch.  I  am  living  in  a 
world  so  remote  from  literature  and  its  critics,  that  on  receiv- 
ing such  a  letter  as  yours,  my  first  feeling  is  one  of  astonishment. 
Whoever  was  it  wrote  The  Cossacks  and  Polikoushka  ?  And 
what's  the  use  of  talking  about  them?  Paper  endures  any- 
thing, and  editors  pay  for  and  print  anything.  But  that  is 
merely  a  first  impression ;  afterwards  one  enters  into  the  mean- 
ing of  what  you  say,  rummages  about  in  one's  head,  and  finds 
in  some  corner  of  it,  among  old,  forgotten  rubbish,  something 
indefinite,  labelled  Art;  and  pondering  on  what  you  say, 
agrees  that  you  are  right,  and  even  finds  it  pleasant  to  rummage 
about  in  that  old  rubbish,  amid  the  smell  one  once  loved.  One 
even  feels  a  desire  to  write.  Of  course,  you  are  right.  But 
then  there  are  few  readers  of  your  sort.  Polikoushka  is  the 
chatter  of  a  man  who  '  wields  a  pen,'  on  the  first  theme  that 
comes  to  hand  ;  but  J'he  Cossacks  has  some  matter  in  it,  though 
poor.  I  am  now  wi-iting  the  story  of  a  pied  gelding,  which  I 
expect  to  print  in  autumn.  [It  did  not  appear  till  1888  !]  But 
how  can  one  write  now  ?  Invisible  efforts — and  even  visible 
ones — are  now  going  on  ;  and,  moreover,  I  am  again  up  to  my 
ears  in  farming.  So  is  Sonya.  We  have  no  steward  ;  we  have 
assistants  for  field-work  and  building ;  but  she,  single-handed, 
attends  to  the  office  and  the  cash.  I  have  the  bees,  the  sheep, 
a  new  orchard,  and  the  distillery.  It  all  progresses,  little  by 
little,  though  of  course  badly  compared  with  our  ideal. 

What  do  you  think  of  the  Polish  business  .''  [the  insurrection 
of  1 863,  then  breaking  out].  It  looks  bad  !  Shall  we — you 
and  I  and  Borisof — not  have  to  take  our  swords  down  from 
their  rusty  nails  ?  .  .  . 

The  bees,  which  Tolstoy  here  places  first  among  his  out- 
door duties,  occupied  much  of  his  time,  and  he  often  spent 
liours  studying  the  habits  of  these  interesting  creatures. 

Tourgenef,  writing  to  Fet,  commented  on  The  Cossacks 
as  follows : 

I  read  The  Cossacks  and  went  into  ecstasies  over  it ;  so  did 
Botkin.  Only  the  personality  of  Olcnin  spoils  the  generally 
splendid  impression.  To  contrast  civilisation  with  fresh,  prim- 
eval Nature,  there  was  no  need  again  to  produce  that  dull, 


MARRIAGE  297 

unhealthy  fellow  always  preoccupied  with  himself.     Why  does 
Tolstoy  not  get  rid  of  that  nightmare  ? 

Several  months  later  he  wrote : 

After  you  left,  I  read  Tolstoy's  Polikonshka  and  marvelled 
at  the  strength  of  his  huge  talent.  But  he  has  used  up  too 
much  material,  and  it  is  a  pity  he  drowned  the  son.  It  makes 
it  too  terrible.  But  there  are  pages  that  are  truly  wonderful ! 
It  made  a  cold  shudder  run  down  even  my  back,  though  you 
know  my  back  has  become  thick  and  coarse.  He  is  a  master, 
a  master! 

Tolstoy  was  now  fairly  launched  on  the  life  he  was 
destined  to  lead  for  sixteen  years  :  a  quiet,  country  life, 
occupied  with  family  joys  and  cares.  These  years  followed 
one  another  with  so  little  change  that  the  story  of  a  decade 
and  a  half  can  almost  be  compressed  into  a  sentence. 
Children  came  in  quick  succession,  two  great  novels  and  an 
ABC  Book  were  produced,  a  large  orchard  was  planted  with 
apple-trees,  the  Yasnaya  Polyana  property  was  improved, 
and  new  estates  were  purchased  east  of  the  Volga. 

During  the  year  1863  Tolstoy  wrote  two  plays,  which 
have  never  been  published.  One,  a  farcical  comedy  called 
The  Nihilist,  was  privately  performed  at  home  with  great 
success.  The  second,  also  a  comedy,  written  on  a  topic  of 
the  day,  was  called  The  Infected  Family.  Hoping  to  have 
it  staged,  Tolstoy  took  it  to  Moscow  early  in  1864 ;  but 
the  theatrical  season,  which  in  Russia  ends  at  the  com- 
mencement of  Lent,  was  already  too  far  advanced  ;  and 
he  never  subsequently  appears  to  have  troubled  himself  to 
have  it  either  published  or  acted. 

The  Countess  Tolstoy's  brother,  S.  A.  Behrs  (who  from 
1866  when  he  was  a  boy  of  eleven,  till  1878,  spent  every 
summer  with  the  Tolstoys)  in  his  book,  Recollections  of 
Count  Tolstoy,  gives  much  interesting  information  about 
the  life  at  Yasnaya.  He  mentions  that  it  was  a  proverb 
about  the  hard  fate  of  penniless  noblemen,  that  prompted 
Tolstoy  to  take  all  possible  care  to  provide  for  the  future 


298  LEO  TOLSTOY 

of  his  children  ;  and  the  passage  in  the  letter  quoted  above, 
about  the  bees,  sheep,  new  orchard  and  distillery  with  which 
he  was  occupied,  shows  how  this  care  was  applied. 

In  his  Confession^  Tolstoy  says  of  the  years  now  under 
review : 

Returning  from  abroad  I  married.  The  new  conditions  of 
happy  family  life  completely  diverted  me  from  all  search  for 
the  general  meaning  of  life.  My  whole  life  was  centred  at 
that  time  in  my  family,  wife  and  children,  and  in  care  to 
increase  our  means  of  livelihood.  My  striving  after  self- 
perfection  and  progress,  was  now  again  replaced  by  the  effort 
simply  to  secure  the  best  possible  conditions  for  myself  and  my 
family. 

So  another  fifteen  years  passed. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  regarded  authorship  as  of  no 
importance,  I  yet,  during  those  fifteen  years,  continued  to 
write.  I  had  already  tasted  the  temptation  of  authorship  :  the 
temptation  of  immense  monetary  rewards  and  applause  for  my 
insignificant  work  ;  and  I  devoted  myself  to  it  as  a  means  of 
improving  my  material  position,  and  of  stifling  in  my  soul  all 
questions  as  to  the  meaning  of  my  own  life,  or  of  life  in 
general. 

Again,  writing  in  1903  of  this  middle  period  of  his  life, 
Tolstoy  says : 

Then  came  a  third,  an  eighteen-year  period  which  may  be 
the  least  interesting  of  all  (from  my  marriage  to  my  spiritual 
re-birth)  and  which  from  a  worldly  point  of  view  may  be  called 
moral :  that  is  to  say,  that  during  those  eighteen  years  I  lived 
a  correct,  honest,  family  life,  not  indulging  myself  in  any 
vices  condemned  by  public  opinion,  but  with  interests  wholly 
limited  to  selfish  cares  for  my  family,  for  the  increase  of  our 
property,  the  acquisition  of  literary  success,  and  all  kinds  of 
pleasure. 

(In  the  one  place  he  speaks  of  '  fifteen  years,'  and  in  the 
other  of 'eighteen  years' ;  but  that  is  his  way,  and  chrono- 
logical exactitude  is  not  the  important  matter  here.) 


MARRIAGE  299 

After  the  Emancipation,  in  many  parts  of  Russia  the 
landlords  had  more  or  less  serious  difficulty  with  the 
peasants,  among  whom  stories  were  rife  to  the  effect  that 
the  Tsar  intended  to  give  them  all  the  land,  but  had  been 
deceived  by  the  officials  into  only  giving  half;  and,  for  a 
time,  riots  were  not  infrequent.  There  was  no  serious 
trouble  of  this  sort  on  Tolstoy's  estate ;  but  his  sister 
(whom  I  met  at  Yasnaya  in  1902,  long  after  her  husband's 
death  and  when  she,  a  nun,  had  been  allowed  out  of  her 
convent  to  visit  her  brother,  after  his  very  serious  illness) 
told  me  tliat  on  one  occasion  the  peasants  refused  to  make 
the  hay ;  and  to  save  it  from  being  lost,  Tolstoy,  his  wife, 
the  members  of  the  family,  and  the  masters  from  eleven 
neighbouring  schools,  all  set  to  work  with  a  will,  and  by 
their  own  strenuous  exertions  saved  the  crop  before  the 
weather  changed. 

On  settling  down  to  married  life,  Tolstoy  formed  the  plan 
of  writing  a  great  novel,  and  the  epoch  he  at  first  intended 
to  deal  with  was  that  of  the  Constitutional  conspiracy 
which  came  to  a  head  on  the  accession  of  Nicholas  I  to 
the  throne  in  December  1825.  Tiiat  quite  premature 
military  plot  was  quickly  snuffed  out.  So  little  were 
things  ripe  for  it,  that  many  even  of  the  soldiers  who  shouted 
for  a  '  Constitution '  {Konstitutsia)  thought  they  were 
demanding  allegiance  to  Nicholas's  elder  brother  Constantino, 
who  having  married  a  Polish  lady  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
faith  had  renounced  his  right  to  the  throne.  While  con- 
sidering the  plan  of  his  work,  Tolstoy  found  himself  carried 
back  to  tlie  scenes  amid  which  his  characters  had  grown  up : 
to  the  time  of  the  Napoleonic  wars  and  the  invasion  of 
Russia  by  the  French  in  1812.  Here  was  a  splendid  back- 
ground for  a  novel,  and  putting  aside  The  Decembrists  he 
commenced  War  and  Peace,  a  work  conceived  on  a  gigantic 
scale,  and  that  resulted  in  a  splendid  success. 

His  attention,  as  we  have  already  seen,  was  however  not 
wholly  absorbed  by  literature,  but  was  divided  between  that 
and  the  management  of  his  property.     He  had  during  his 


800  LEO  TOLSTOY 

stay  among  the  Kirghiz  in  the  Province  of  Samara,  noticed 
how  extremely  cheap  and  how  fertile  was  the  land  in  those 
parts.  He  therefore  wished  to  purchase  an  estate  there, 
and  visited  the  district  in  the  autumn  of  1864,  probably 
with  that  end  in  view.  How  long  he  stayed  there  I  do  not 
know,  but  from  a  letter  he  wrote  to  Fet  on  7th  October, 
saying,  '  We  start  for  home  to-day  and  do  not  know  how 
we  shall  make  our  way  to  happy  Yasnaya,"  we 
know  when  he  returned.  .  In  November  he  again 
wrote  to  Fet,  and  mentioned  the  laborious  preparations 
he  was  at  that  time  making  for  War  and  Peace  : 

I  am  in  the  dumps  and  am  writing  nothing,  but  work  pain- 
fully. You  cannot  imagine  how  hard  I  find  the  preliminary 
work  of  ploughing  deep  the  field  in  which  I  must  sow.  To 
consider  and  reconsider  all  that  may  happen  to  all  the  future 
characters  in  the  very  large  work  I  am  preparing,  and  to  weigh 
millions  of  possible  combinaticns  in  order  to  select  from  among 
them  a  millionth  part,  is  terribly  difficult.  And  that  is  what  I 
am  doing.  .  .  . 

Late  in  that  month  he  wrote  again  to  Fet : 
This  autumn  I  have  written  a  good  deal  of  my  novel.  Ars 
longa,  vita  brevis  comes  to  my  mind  every  day.  If  one  could  but 
make  time  to  accomplish  a  hundredth  part  of  what  one  under- 
stands— but  only  a  thousandth  part  gets  done  !  Nevertheless 
the  consciousness  that  /  can  is  what  brings  happiness  to  men 
of  our  sort.  You  know  that  feeling,  and  I  experience  it  with 
particular  force  this  year. 

The  year  1864  saw  the  publication  of  the  first  collected 
edition  of  Tolstoy's  works,  and  though  they  have  been 
already  mentioned,  it  may  be  as  well  to  give  a  complete 
list  of  those  twenty  '  trials  of  the  pen ""  which  preceded  the 
appearance  of  War  and  Peaces  and  had  already  sufficed  to 
place  Tolstoy  in  the  front  rank  of  Russian  writers.  The 
following  are  their  titles,  with  the  years  in  which  they 
were  first  published.  They  suffice  to  fill  four  very  sub- 
stantial volumes. 


MARRIAGE  801 

1852  Childhood. 

1853  The  Raid:  A  Volunteer  s  Story. 

1854  Boyhood. 

1855  Memoirs  of  a  Billiard-Mar ker. 

1855  *  Sevastopol  in  December, 
„      *Sevastopol  in  May. 
„      *Tyj^  Wood- Felling. 

1856  *  Sevastopol  in  August. 
The  Snow  Stoj-rn. 

*T-wo  Hussars. 

*  Meeting  a  Moscow  Acquaintance  in  the  Detachment. 
A  Squire''s  Morning. 

1857  Youth. 

„        Lucerne. 

1858  JZifr^. 

1859  Three  Deaths. 

„  Family  Happiness. 

1862  Educational  articles  in  Yasnaya  Polyana. 

1863  T/i^  Cossacks. 
„  Polikoushka. 

As  I  am  sometimes  asked  where  satisfactory  versions  of  these 
stories  can  be  found,  I  may  say  that  I  think  the  best  version 
of  Childhood,  Boyhood  and  Youth  ^  is  ]Miss  Isabel  Hapgood's, 
and  I  make  no  apology  for  quoting  a  letter  Tolstoy  wrote 
me  on  23rd  December  1901,  concerning  the  volume,  Seva- 
stopol,^ translated  by  my  wife  and  myself,  and  containing 
the  six  stories  marked  *  in  the  above  list.  I  do  this  with 
less  hesitation,  because  his  letter  illustrates  the  cordial  way 
in  which  he  encourages  those  who  do  any  work  he  can 
approve  of,  in  connection  with  his  own  activity  : 

I  think  I  already  wrote  you  how  unusually  the  volume 
pleases  me.  All  in  it  is  excellent:  the  edition  and  the  foot- 
notes, and  chiefly  the  translation,  and  yet  more  the  conscien- 

1  Published  by  Walter  Scott,  Ltd. ,  London,  and  by  T.  Y.  Crowell  and 
Co.,  New  York. 

'  Published  by  Messrs.  A.  Constable  and  Co.,  London,  and  Funk  and 
Wagnalls  Co.,  New  York, 


302  LEO  TOLSTOY 

tiousness  with  which  all  this  has  been  done.  I  happened  to 
open  it  at  Two  Hussars  and  read  on  to  the  end  just  as  if  it 
were  something  new  that  had  been  written  in  English. 

One  day  in  October  Tolstoy  went  out  for  a  ride  on  his 
favourite  horse,  an  English  thoroughbred  named  Mashka. 
His  borzoi  dogs  Lubka  and  Krylat  accompanied  him.  After 
he  had  ridden  some  way,  a  hare  suddenly  started  up  and 
the  dogs  rushed  after  it.  Tolstoy  had  not  come  out  with  the 
idea  of  hunting,  but  on  seeing  the  dogs  chasing  the  hare  he 
could  not  restrain  himself,  and  galloped  after  them,  uttering 
the  hunting  cry, '  Atou  ! '  The  weather  was  bad,  the  ground 
slippery,  and  the  horse  stumbled  at  a  narrow  ravine  and  fell, 
dislocating  and  breaking  its  rider's  arm.  The  horse  ran 
away,  and  Tolstoy,  who  was  quite  alone  and  several  miles 
from  home,  fainted.  When  he  came  to,  he  managed  to 
drag  himself  a  distance  of  more  than  half  a  mile  to  the  high- 
road, where  he  lay  in  great  pain.  Some  peasant  carts  passed 
by,  but  at  first  he  could  not  attract  any  one's  attention. 
When  at  last  he  was  noticed,  in  order  not  to  alarm  his  wife, 
he  asked  to  be  taken  to  the  hut  of  an  old  wife,  Akoulina, 
famed  as  a  bone-setter.  In  spite  of  all  that  she  and  her 
son  Ivan  could  do — soaping,  pulling,  twisting  and  bandaging 
the  arm — they  could  not  set  it,  and  Tolstoy  continued  to 
suffer  the  greatest  pain. 

The  Countess,  who  had  meanwhile  heard  of  the  accident, 
reached  the  hut  late  at  night.  She  at  once  arranged  to  have 
her  husband  taken  home,  and  sent  to  Toula  for  a  doctor. 
The  latter  arrived  about  3  a.m.,  and  after  administering 
chloroform,  succeeded,  with  the  aid  of  two  labourers  who 
were  called  in  to  assist,  in  setting  the  arm.  On  coming  to, 
Tolstoy's  profound  disbelief  in  the  efficiency  of  doctors, 
prompted  him  to  send  for  another  surgeon.  After  a  con- 
sultation the  two  physicians  decided  that  everything  had 
been  done  properly,  and  that  Tolstoy  must  lie  up  for  six 
weeks  to  allow  the  arm  to  recover.  When  that  time  was 
up,  Tolstoy  asked  for  his  gun  and  fired  it  off  to  test  his 


MARRIAGE  803 

arm.  No  sooner  had  he  done  so  than  he  again  felt  great 
pain.  He  thereupon  wrote  to  his  father-in-law,  Dr. 
Behrs,  and  on  his  advice  went  to  Moscow  to  consult  the 
specialists.  These  differed  among  themselves,  but  after  a 
week's  hesitation  a  fresh  operation  was  decided  upon, 
and  was  carried  out  by  two  competent  surgeons.  This 
time  it  was  quite  successful,  and  in  due  course  the  patient 
completely  recovered  the  use  of  his  arm. 

Meanwhile  the  Countess  (now  nursing  her  second  child,  a 
daughter  named  Tatiana,  who  had  been  born  on  4th  October) 
remained  at  Yasnaya,  where  her  eldest  child,  Sergius,  was 
taken  dangerously  ill  with  smallpox  and  diarrhoea.  This 
was  the  first  occasion  on  which  Tolstoy  and  his  wife  had 
been  separated. 

While  in  Moscow  he  concluded  an  arrangement  with 
Katkdf  by  which  he  received  Rs.  500  (£75)  per  printed  sheet 
of  sixteen  pages  for  the  serial  rights  in  War  and  Peace, 
which  appeared  in  the  Russian  Messenger.  This  was  just 
ten  times  the  amount  which,  when  he  wrote  his  first  stories, 
Nekrasof  had  mentioned  as  the  highest  rate  paid  to  any  one 
for  the  magazine  rights  in  a  story. 

On  23rd  January  1865,  when  Tolstoy  had  got  over  his  acci- 
dent, he  wrote  Fet  another  of  those  jocular  letters 
which  sometimes  contain  more  of  the  real  truth  than 
will  bear  saying  seriously  : 

Shall  I  tell  you  something  surprising  about  myself?  When 
the  horse  threw  me  and  broke  my  arm,  and  when  I  came  to 
after  fainting,  I  said  to  myself:  '  I  am  an  author.'  And  I  am 
an  author,  but  a  solitary,  on-the-quiet  kind  of  author.  ...  In 
a  few  days  the  first  part  of  '  The  Year  1805  '  [so  the  first  part  of 
War  and  Peace  was  originally  called]  will  appear.  Please  write 
me  your  opinion  of  it  in  detail.  I  value  your  opinion  and  that 
of  a  man  whom  I  dislike  the  more,  the  more  I  grow  up — 
Tourgenef.  He  will  understand.  All  I  have  printed  hitherto 
I  consider  but  a  trial  of  my  pen ;  what  I  am  now  printing, 
though  it  pleases  me  better  than  my  former  work,  still  seems 
weak — as   an   Introduction   must  be.      But  what  follows  wiU 


304  LEO  TOLSTOY 

be — tremendous ! ! !  .  .  .  Write  what  is  said  about  it  in  the 
different  places  you  know,  and  especially  how  it  goes  with  the 
general  public.  No  doubt  it  will  pass  unnoticed.  I  expect  and 
wish  it  to  do  so ;  if  only  they  don't  abuse  me,  for  abuse  upsets 
one.  .  .  . 

I  am  glad  you  like  my  wife ;  though  I  love  her  less  than  my 
novel,  still,  you  know,  she  is  my  wife.  Be  sure  you  come  to 
visit  us ;  for  if  you  and  Marya  Petrovna  do  not  stay  here 
on  your  return  from  Moscow  it  will  really,  without  a  joke,  be 
too  stupid  ! 

In  May  1865  one  sees  by  a  letter  of  Tolstoy's  to  Fet  that 
one  of  the  children  had  been  ill  and  he  himself  had  been 
in  bed  for  three  days  and  barely  escaped  a  fever.  His 
wife's  younger  sister,  Tanya,  she  of  the  contralto  voice 
who  (with  some  admixture  of  his  wife)  served  Tolstoy 
as  model  for  Natasha  in  War  and  Peace,  was  spending  the 
summer  at  Yasnaya,  as  she  had  done  each  year  since  her 
sister's  marriage.  The  Countess  Mary  and  her  children 
were  also  there.  The  children,  he  says,  were  well,  and  out 
all  day  in  the  open  air.     He  adds : 

I  continue  to  write  little  by  little,  and  am  content  with  my 
work.  The  woodcock  still  attract  me,  and  every  evening  I 
shoot  at  them,  that  is,  generally,  past  them.  My  farming  goes 
on  well,  that  is  to  say,  it  does  not  disturb  me  much — which  is 
all  I  demand  of  it.  .  .  . 

In  reply  to  a  suggestion  from  Fet,  he  goes  on  to  say  that 
he  will  not  write  more  about  the  Yasno-Polyana  school, 
but  hopes  some  day  to  express  the  conclusions  to  which 
his  three  years'  ardent  passion  for  that  work  had  brought 
him.  Then  comes  a  reference  to  the  state  of  agricultural 
affairs  after  the  Emancipation,  and  a  passing  allusion 
to  the  question  of  famine — a  subject  destined  to  make 
great  demands  on  Tolstoy's  attention  in  later  years : 

Our  affairs  as  agriculturists  are  now  like  those  of  a  share- 
holder whose  shares  have  lost  value  and  are  unsaleable  on 
'Change.     The  case  is  a  bad  one.     Personally  I  only  ask  that 


MARRIAGE  305 

it  should  not  demand  of  me  so  much  attention  and  participation 
as  to  deprive  me  of  my  tranquillity.  Latterly  I  have  been 
content  with  my  private  affairs ;  but  the  general  trend — with 
the  impending  misery  of  famine — torments  me  more  and  more 
every  day.  It  is  so  strange^  and  even  good  and  terrible.  We 
have  rosy  radishes  on  our  table,  and  yellow  butter,  and  well- 
baked,  soft  bread  on  a  clean  tablecloth ;  the  garden  is  green, 
and  our  young  ladies  in  muslin  dresses  are  glad  it  is  hot  and 
shady ;  while  there  that  evil  hunger-devil  is  already  at  work, 
covering  the  fields  with  goose-weed,  chafing  the  hard  heels  of 
the  peasants  and  their  wives,  and  cracking  the  hoofs  of  the 
cattle.  Our  weather,  the  corn,  and  the  meadows,  are  really 
terrible.     How  are  they  with  you .'' 

The  letter  closes  with  advice  to  Fet  to  transfer  his  chief 
attention  from  the  land  to  literature,  and  a  statement  that 
Tolstoy  himself  has  done  so,  and  is  finding  life  less  difficult. 

When  Tolstov  went  out  huntinoj  hares  and  foxes  with 
borzoi  dogs,  Miss  Tatiana  Behrs  (the  Tanya  alluded  to 
above)  used  often  to  accompany  him. 

Between  this  lady  and  Count  Sergius  Tolstoy  (Leo's 
elder  brother)  an  attachment  had  grown  up  which  caused 
great  distress  to  them  both,  for,  besides  being  twenty-two 
years  older  than  the  lady,  Sergius  was  living  with,  and  had  a 
family  by,  the  gipsy  mentioned  in  a  previous  chapter,  though 
he  was  not  legally  married.  His  affection  for  his  family  pre- 
vented his  yielding  completely  to  his  love  for  Tanya  and 
asking  her  to  be  his  wife.  The  Behrs  were  quite  willing 
that  he  should  do  so,  and  the  young  lady  would  have 
accepted  him,  and  was  much  pained  by  the  vacillation  that 
resulted  from  the  battle  between  his  love  for  her  and  his 
affection  for  his  family.  Ultimately  he  resolved  to  be  faith- 
ful to  the  union  he  had  formed,  and,  in  order  to  legitimise 
his  children,  went  through  the  form  of  marriage  with  their 
mother  in  1867.  Almost  at  the  same  time,  T^nya,  having  re- 
covered from  her  disappointment,  married  a  Mr.  Kouzminsky. 

Here  again  one  gets  a  slight  glimpse  of  the  experience  of 
life  which  has  led  Tolstoy,  contrary  to  the  opinion  general 

D 


306  LEO  TOLSTOY 

among  the  Russian  '  intelligents,"'  to  advocate  faithfulness 
at  all  costs  to  the  woman  with  whom  one  has  once  formed  a 
union. 

A  knowledge  of  Tanya''s  story  adds  to  the  interest  with 
which,  in  Tolstoy's  great  novel,  one  reads  of  Natasha 
Rdstof  s  troubles  and  ultimate  happiness. 

Towards  the  end  of  May,  Tolstoy  visited  the  estate  of 
Nikdlsky  (which  after  the  death  of  his  brother  Nicholas 
had  become  his),  and  had  the  house  there  repaired.  In 
June  the  whole  family  moved  to  Nikdlsky,  where  they 
lived  very  quietly ;  Tolstoy  continuing  to  write  War  and 
Peace.  His  friend  D.  A.  Dyakof's  estate  was  only  ten 
miles  away,  and  Tolstoy  saw  much  of  him  at  this  time, 
besides  having  him  at  other  times  as  a  frequent  visitor 
at  Yasnaya.  Dyakof  was  his  chief  adviser  in  agricul- 
tural matters,  as  well  as  in  his  efforts  to  improve  the  stock 
of  his  cattle,  pigs  and  poultry.  Almost  the  only  other 
visitors  at  Nikdlsky  were  the  Fets ;  and  the  poet  records 
meeting  there  the  Countess's  '  charming  sister,'  Tanya,  and 
experiencing  violent  antipathy  for  the  sour  koumys,  about 
which  Tolstoy  was  enthusiastic,  and  a  large  tub  of  which 
stood  near  the  front  door. 

While  living  at  Nikdlsky  Tolstoy  was  invited  for  a  fort- 
night by  a  neighbouring  landlord,  Kireyevsky,  to  a  grand 
hunt,  in  which  the  huntsmen  wore  special  costumes,  and 
luxurious  dinners  were  served  in  the  woods.  What  inter- 
ested Tolstoy  most  in  all  this  was  not  the  hunt,  but  the 
opportunity  it  afforded  him  of  studying  types  of  the  old 
and  new  aristocracy. 

At  this  period  of  his  life  one  hears  of  his  playing  the 
guitar  and  singing  passionate  love-songs. 

During  the  autumn  of  1865  Tolstoy,  accompanied  by  his 
eleven-year-old  brother-in-law,  visited  the  battlefield  of 
Borodino.  They  left  Moscow  in  Dr.  Behrs'  carriage,  with 
post-horses.  When  the  time  came  for  them  to  have  some- 
thing to  eat,  they  found  that  the  lunch  basket  had  been 
left  behind,  and  they  had  only  a  small  basket  of  grapes. 


MARRIAGE  307 

Thereupon  Tolstoy  remarked  to  his  companion,  '  I  am  sorry, 
not  that  we  have  left  the  basket  of  food  behind,  but  because 
your  father  will  be  upset  and  will  be  angry  with  his 
man.'  The  journey  took  only  one  day,  and  they  stayed 
at  the  monastery  erected  in  memory  of  those  who  fell  in 
the  gi-eat  fight.  For  two  days  Tolstoy  investigated  the 
scene  of  the  conflict  which  he  was  about  to  describe  in 
his  novel,  and  he  then  drew  the  plan  of  the  fight  which 
appears  in  that  work.  Even  in  1865  there  were  but  few 
survivors  of  the  campaign  of  1812  to  be  found  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

Tolstoy  used  at  this  time  to  spend  whole  days  in  the 
Roumyantsef  Museum  in  Moscow,  studying  books  and  manu 
scripts  relating  to  the  times  of  Alexander  I,  and  especially 
to  the  reformatory  and  Masonic  movements  which  then 
sprang  up  in  Russia,  but  were  subsequently  suppressed  on 
political  grounds. 

S.  A.  Behrs  tells  us  that  Tolstoy 

was  always  fond  of  children^  and  liked  to  have  them  about 
him.  He  easily  won  their  confidence^  and  seemed  to  have 
found  the  key  to  their  hearts.  He  appeared  to  have  no 
difficulty  in  suiting  himself  to  a  strange  child^  and  with  a  single 
question  set  it  completely  at  ease,  so  that  it  began  at  once  to 
chat  away  with  perfect  freedom.  Independently  of  this,  he 
could  divine  a  child's  thought  with  the  skill  of  a  trained 
educationalist.  I  remember  his  children  sometimes  running  up 
to  him,  and  telling  him  they  had  a  great  secret ;  and  when  they 
persisted  in  refusing  to  divulge  it,  he  would  quietly  whisper 
in  their  ears  what  it  was.  'Ah,  what  a  papa  ours  is  !  How  did 
he  find  it  out } '  they  would  cry,  in  astonishment. 

He  also  says : 

Gifted  by  nature  with  rare  tact  and  deHcacy,  he  is  extremely 
gentle  in  his  bearing  and  conduct  to  others.  I  never  heard  him 
scold  a  servant.  Yet  they  all  had  the  greatest  respect  for  him, 
were  fond  of  him,  and  seemed  even  to  fear  him.  Nor,  with  all 
his  zeal  for  sport,  have  I  ever  seen  him  whip  a  dog  or  beat 
his  horse. 


308  LEO  TOLSTOY 

A  servant  who  lived  with  him  more  than  twenty  years 
has  said :  '  Living  in  the  Counfs  house  from  my  childhood,  I 
loved  Leo  Nikolayevitch  as  though  he  were  my  father ' ;  and 
in  another  place  he  remarks : 

The  Count  had  a  stern  appearance,  but  treated  the  servants 
excellently,  and  made  things  easy  for  all  strangers  whom  he 
met.  He  has  a  very  good  hearty  and  when  he  was  cross  with 
me  for  anything,  I,  knowing  his  character,  used  at  once  to 
leave  the  room,  and  when  next  he  called  me,  it  was  as  though 
nothing  unpleasant  had  happened. 

Speaking  of  Tolstoy's  later  years  the  same  servant  says : 

Leo  Nikolayevitch  has  now  become  quite  a  different  man. 
From  1865  to  1870  he  was  active  in  managing  the  estate,  and 
was  fond  of  cows,  bred  sheep,  looked  after  the  property,  and, 
in  a  word,  attended  to  everything.  At  that  time  he  was  hot- 
tempered  and  impulsive.  He  would  order  the  trap  to  be 
brought  when  he  wanted  to  go  hunting.  His  man,  Alexis, 
would  bring  him  his  hunting-boots,  and  the  Count  would  shout 
at  him,  'Why  have  you  not  dried  them.^  You  are  not  worth 
your  salt ! '  Alexis,  knowing  the  Count's  character^  would 
take  the  boots  away,  and  bring  them  back  almost  directly. 
'  There !  now  they  're  all  right/  the  Count  would  say,  and 
would  brighten  up  instantly. 

His  love  of  the  country  and  his  dislike  of  towns  sprang 
partly  from  his  keen  appreciation  of  the  charm  and  loveli- 
ness of  Nature.  He  saw  fresh  beauty  every  day,  and  often 
exclaimed  :  '  What  wealth  God  has !  He  gives  each  day 
something  to  distinguish  it  from  all  the  rest."* 

Sportsman  and  agriculturist  himself,  he  maintains  that 
sportsmen  and  agriculturists  alone  know  Nature.  To  quote 
Behrs  again : 

No  bad  weather  was  allowed  to  interfere  with  his  daily  walk. 
He  could  put  up  with  loss  of  appetite,  from  which  he  occa- 
sionally suffered,  but  he  could  never  go  a  day  without  a  sharp 
walk  in  the  open  air.  In  general,  he  was  fond  of  active  move- 
ment, riding,  gymnastics,  but  particularly  walking.  If  his 
literary  work  chanced  to  go  badly,  or  if  he  wished  to  throw  off 


MARRIAGE  809 

the  effects  of  any  unpleasantness,  a  long  walk  was  his  sovereign 
remedy.  He  could  walk  the  whole  day  without  fatigue;  and 
we  have  frequently  ridden  together  for  ten  or  twelve  hours.  In 
his  study  he  kept  a  pair  of  dumb-bells,  and  sometimes  had 
gymnastic  apparatus  erected  there. 

All  luxury  was  distasteful  to  him  ;  and  much  that  ordi- 
nary people  regard  as  common  comforts,  seemed  to  him 
harmful  indulgences,  bad  for  the  souls  and  bodies  of  men. 
Nothing  could  well  be  more  simple  than  the  arrangement 
of  his  house  at  Yasnaya,  substantial  and  solidly  built  as  it 
was,  with  its  double  windows,  and  the  Dutch  stoves  so 
necessary  to  warm  a  Russian  house. 

He  was  not  at  all  particular  about  what  he  ate,  but 
objected  to  a  soft  bed  or  spring  mattress,  and  at  one  time 
he  used  to  sleep  on  a  leather- covered  sofa. 

He  dressed  very  simply,  and  when  at  home  never  wore 
starched  shirts  or  tailor-made  clothes,  but  adapted  to  his 
own  requirements  the  ordinary  Russian  blouse,  having  it 
made  of  woollen  stuff  for  winter,  and  of  linen  for  summer. 
His  out-door  winter  dress  was  also  an  adaptation  of  the 
sheepskin  shouha  and  peasants'  caftan^  made  of  the  plainest 
material ;  and  these  afforded  such  good  protection  from  the 
weather  that  they  were  often  borrowed  by  members  of  the 
household  as  well  as  by  visitors. 

During  the  writing  of  War  and  Peace  Tolstoy  generally 
enjoyed  good  spirits,  and  on  days  when  his  work  had  gone 
well,  he  would  gleefully  announce  that  he  had  left  '  a  bit  of 
my  life  in  the  inkstand.'  One  of  his  chief  recreations  was 
to  go  out  hare-hunting  with  borzoi  dogs,  and  this  he  often 
did  in  company  with  a  neighbouring  landed  proprietor, 
Bibikof. 

From  October  1865  he  ceased  to  keep  his  Diary,  and  did 
not  renew  it  during  the  period  covered  by  this  volume. 

On   Twelfth    Night   a   grand    masquerade    was   held   at 
Yasnaya,  and  the  festivities  were  kept  up  till  past 
two  in  the  morning,  and  were  followed  by  a  troika 
drive  next  day. 


310  LEO  TOLSTOY 

That  same  January  the  family  moved  to  Moscow,  where 
they  hired  a  six-roomed  apartment  for  Rs.  155  a  month 
(say  about  £23);  and  there  they  remained  for  six  weeks 
while  the  second  part  of  War  and  Peace  was  being  printed 
for  the  Russian  Messenger. 

Among  the  friends  Tolstoy  saw  most  of  at  this  time  were 
Aksakof  and  Prince  Obolensky.  He  also  attended  the 
Moscow  drawing  school,  and  he  tried  his  hand  at  sculpture — 
modelling  a  bust  of  his  wife.  It  does  not  appear,  however, 
that  he  continued  this  occupation  long. 

In  May  1866  a  second  son,  Ilya,  was  born,  and  an 
English  nurse  introduced  into  the  family. 

During  this  summer  an  infantry  regiment  was  stationed 
near  Yasnaya,  in  which  a  young  Sub-Lieutenant  named 
Kolokdltsef  was  serving,  whom  the  Countess  Tolstoy  had 
known  in  Moscow.  He  visited  the  Tolstoys,  and  intro- 
duced to  them  his  Colonel  Unosha,  and  his  fellow-officer 
Ensign  Stasulevitch  (brother  of  the  Liberal  editor  of  the 
monthly  magazine,  T%e  Messenger  of  Europe),  who  had 
been  degraded  to  the  ranks  because,  while  he  was  on  prison- 
duty,  a  prisoner  had  escaped.  Ensign  Stasulevitch  was 
middle-aged,  but  he  had  only  recently  regained  his  rank  as 
officer  and  joined  the  regiment  commanded  by  his  former 
comrade.  Colonel  Unosha. 

One  day  Stasulevitch  and  Kolokdltsef  called  on  Tolstoy 
and  told  him  that  a  soldier,  serving  as  secretary  in  one  of 
the  companies  of  the  regiment,  had  struck  his  Company 
Commander,  and  was  to  be  tried  by  court-martial.  They 
asked  Tolstoy  to  undertake  the  man''s  defence,  and  he, 
having  always  regarded  capital  punishment  with  abhorrence, 
readily  agreed  to  do  so. 

The  circumstances  of  the  case  were  these.  The  soldier, 
Shibounin,  was  a  man  of  very  limited  intelligence,  whose 
chief  occupation  was  writing  out  reports.  When  he  had 
any  money  he  spent  it  on  solitary  drinking.  The  Captain 
in  command  of  his  company,  a  Pole,  apparently  disliked 
him,  and  frequently  found  fault  with  his  reports  and  made 


MARRIAGE  311 

him  rewrite  them.  This  treatment  Shibounin  bitterly 
resented;  and  one  day,  when  he  had  been  drinking,  on 
being  told  to  rewrite  a  document  he  had  prepared,  he 
insulted  and  struck  the  Captain.  By  law  the  penalty  for 
a  private  who  strikes  his  officer  is  death.  Tolstoy  never- 
theless hoped  to  save  the  man''s  life,  and  obtained  permission 
to  plead  on  his  behalf.  The  trial  took  place  on  6th  June, 
and  the  members  of  the  court-martial  were  Colonel  Unosha, 
Stasulevitch,  and  Kolokdltsef;  the  latter  being  merely  a 
light-headed  youngster. 

Tolstoy,  when  telling  me  of  the  incident,  remarked  that 
of  the  four  occasions  on  which  he  has  spoken  in  public, 
this  was  the  time  that  he  did  so  with  most  assurance  and 
satisfaction  to  himself.  He  had  written  out  his  speech;  the 
main  point  of  which  was  that  Shibounin  was  not  responsible 
for  his  actions,  being  abnormal,  and  having  from  the  com- 
bined effect  of  intemperance  and  the  monotony  of  his 
occupation,  become  idiotic  and  obsessed  by  an  idea  that 
his  Company  Commander  did  not  understand  report  writing, 
and  unfairly  rejected  work  faultlessly  done.  The  law  de- 
crees a  mitigation  of  sentence  for  crimes  committed  by 
those  who  are  not  in  the  full  possession  of  their  senses ;  and 
as  this  contradicts  the  paragraph  allotting  death  as  the  sole 
punishment  for  a  soldier  who  strikes  his  officer,  Tolstoy 
argued  that  mercy  should  be  extended  to  the  prisoner. 

The  Court  adjourned  to  consider  its  verdict,  and  (as 
Tolstoy  subsequently  learnt)  Stasulevitch  was  in  favour  of 
mercy.  The  Colonel,  who  was  more  of  a  military  machine 
than  a  human  being,  demanded  the  death  sentence,  and  the 
decision  therefore  rested  with  the  boyish  Sub-Lieutenant, 
who  (submitting  to  his  Colonel)  voted  for  death. 

Tolstoy  wished  to  appeal  (through  his  aunt,  the  Countess 
A.  A.  Tolstoy)  to  Alexander  II  for  a  pardon ;  but  with 
characteristic  disregard  of  details,  he  omitted  to  mention  the 
name  of  the  regiment  in  which  the  affiiir  had  occurred,  and 
this  enabled  the  Minister  of  War,  Milutin,  to  delay  the 
presentation  of  the  petition  until  Shibounin  had  been  shot ; 


312  LEO  TOLSTOY 

which  occurred  on  9th  August,  Tolstoy's  appeal  never, 
therefore,  reached  the  Emperor. 

In  contrast  with  the  action  of  the  Colonel  and  the 
Minister,  was  that  of  the  peasants  of  the  district,  who 
flocked  in  crowds  to  see  the  prisoner ;  bringing  him  milk, 
eggs,  home-made  linen  and  all  the  gifts  their  poverty  could 
afford.  When  the  day  of  execution  arrived,  Shibounin  went 
quite  impassively  to  his  death ;  to  all  appearance  incapable 
of  understanding  what  was  happening.  The  people  thronged 
around  the  post  to  which  he  was  to  be  tied — the  women 
weeping  and  some  of  them  fainting.  They  fetched  a  priest 
to  perform  Masses  at  his  grave,  and  paid  for  the  service  to  be 
repeated  all  day.  At  night  contributions  of  copper  money, 
linen,  and  candles  such  as  are  burnt  in  Russian  churches, 
were  laid  upon  his  grave.  Next  day  the  Masses  were 
recommenced,  and  were  continued  until  the  local  police  for- 
bade any  more  religious  services,  and  levelled  the  grave  that 
the  people  might  not  continue  to  visit  it. 

The  knowledge  of  such  a  difference  between  the  spirit  of 
the  governors  and  the  governed,  helps  us  once  again  to  under- 
stand Tolstoy's  ultimate  conviction  that  Government  and 
the  administration  of  law  are  essentially  evil  things,  always 
tending  to  make  the  world  worse  and  not  better.  In  later 
life  we  may  be  sure  he  would  not  have  been  content  to 
base  his  plea  for  mercy  on  merely  legal  grounds. 

From  time  to  time  he  continued  to  be  troubled  with  ill- 
health  ;  for  instance,  in  July  1866  he  writes  that  he  is 
confined  to  the  house  with  pains  in  the  stomach  which  make 
it  impossible  for  him  to  turn  quickly. 

In  November — contrary  to  what  he  had  often  said  in  the 
past  and  was  to  return  to  in  later  life — he  expresses  his 
sense  of  the  importance  of  authorship.  Fet,  criticising 
something  in  War  and  Peace,  had  quoted  the  words,  irri- 
tabilis  poetarum  gens,  and  Tolstoy,  replying  '  Not  I,'  wel- 
comes the  criticism,  begs  for  more,  and  goes  on  to  say  : 

What  have  you  been  doing  ?  Not  on  the  Zemstvo  [County 
Council]  or  in  farming  (all  that  is  compulsory  activity  such  as 


MARRIAGE  313 

we  do  elementally  and  with  as  little  will  of  our  own  as  the  ants 
who  make  an  ant-hill ;  in  that  sphere  there  is  nothing  good  or 
bad),  but  what  are  you  doing  in  thought,  with  the  mainspring 
of  your  being,  which  alone  has  been,  and  is,  and  will  endure 
in  the  world  ?  Is  that  spring  still  alive  ?  Does  it  wish  to 
manifest  itself?  How  does  it  express  its  wish?  Or  has  it 
forgotten  how  to  express  itself?     That  is  the  chief  thing. 

By  the  autumn  of  this  year  the  railway  southwards  from 
Moscow  to  Koursk  had  been  constructed  as  far  as  Toula, 
making  it  easier  to  get  from  Yasnaya  to  Moscow,  and  to 
the  rest  of  Europe.  Yet  Tolstoy  comparatively  seldom 
felt  tempted  to  leave  his  much-loved,  tranquil,  busy, 
country  life,  in  which  alone  he  found  himself  able  to  work 
with  the  maximum  of  efficiency. 

About  this  time  lie  undertook  the  planting  of  a  birch 
wood,  which  has  since  grown  up  and  become  valuable. 

During  the  summer  of  1867  Tolstoy,  despite  the  dislike 
and  distrust  of  doctors — which  he  shares  with  Rousseau, 
and  which  he  has  again  and  again  expressed  in  his 
works — was  induced  by  the  state  of  his  health  and 
by  his  wife's  persuasion,  to  consult  the  most  famous  Moscow 
doctor  of  the  time.  Professor  Zaharin,  on  whose  advice  he 
drank  mineral  water  during  several  weeks 

Writing  to  Fet  he  says  : 

If  I  wrote  to  you,  dear  friend,  every  time  I  think  of  you,  you 
would  receive  two  letters  a  day  from  me.  But  one  cannot  get 
everything  said,  and  sometimes  one  is  lazy  and  sometimes  too 
busy,  as  is  the  case  at  present.  I  have  recently  returned  from 
Moscow  and  have  begun  a  strict  cure  under  the  direction  of 
Zaharin ;  and  most  important  of  all,  I  am  printing  my  novel  at 
Ris's,  and  have  to  prepare  and  send  off  MSS.  and  proofs  every 
day  under  threat  of  a  fine  and  of  delayed  publication.  That  is 
both  pleasant  and  also  hard,  as  you  know. 

He  goes  on  to  criticise  Tourgeners  novel,  Dym  {Smoke), 
which  had  appeared  that  year  : 

About  Smoke  I  meant  to  write  long  ago,  and,  of  course,  just 
what  you  have  now  written.     That  is  why  we  love  one  another — 


314  LEO  TOLSTOY 

because  we  think  alike  with  the  '  wisdom  of  the  heart '  as  you 
call  it.  (Thank  you  very  much  for  that  letter  also :  '  the 
wisdom  of  the  heart '  and  '  the  wisdom  of  the  mind '  explain 
much  to  me.)  About  Smoke,  I  think  that  the  strength  of  poetry 
lies  in  love  ;  and  the  direction  of  that  strength  depends  on 
character.  Without  strength  of  love  there  is  no  poetry ;  but 
strength  falsely  directed — the  result  of  the  poet's  having  an 
unpleasant,  weak  character — creates  dislike.  In  Smoke  there  is 
hardly  any  love  of  anything,  and  very  little  poetry.  There  is 
only  love  of  light  and  playful  adultery,  and  therefore  the 
poetry  of  that  novel  is  repulsive.  That,  as  you  see,  is  just  what 
you  write  about  it.  Only  I  fear  to  express  this  opinion  because 
I  cannot  look  soberly  at  the  author,  whose  personality  I  do  not 
like ;  but  I  fancy  my  impression  is  the  general  one.  One  more 
writer  played  out ! 

In  November  1867  we  find  the  whole  family  again 
established  for  a  while  in  a  lodging  in  Moscow,  where  they 
seem  to  have  remained  for  a  large  part  of  the  winter. 

Here  Fet  visited  Tolstoy  and  announced  to  him  that  he 
had  decided  to  arrange  a  Literary  Evening  for  the  benefit 
of  the  famine-stricken  peasants  of  Mtsensk,  the  district  in 
which  Fet's  estate  lay.  Tolstoy  met  the  suggestion  with 
irony,  maintaining  that  Fet  had  invented  the  famine ;  and 
in  reply  to  a  request  that  he  would  ensure  the  success  of 
the  evening  by  reading  something,  flatly  refused  to  do  so, 
declaring  that  he  never  had  and  never  could  do  such  a  thing 
as  read  in  public.  Still,  he  lent  Fet  the  chapter  of  War  and 
Peace  containing  the  wonderful  description  of  the  retreat 
of  the  Russian  army  from  Smolensk  in  fearful  drought. 
This  as  yet  existed  only  in  proof,  not  having  been  published. 
(It  forms  Chapter  V  of  Part  X  of  Volume  II  in  Mrs. 
Constance  Garnetfs  version :  the  best  English  rendering 
of  that  novel.)  Read  by  Prince  Kougoushef,  the  poet  and 
dramatist,  it  evoked  thunders  of  applause. 

jggg  On  12th  April  1868  Tourgenef,  writing  to  Fet, 
said : 

I  have  just  finished  the  fourth  volume   of  War  and  Peace. 


MARRIAGE  315 

There  are  things  in  it  that  are  unbearable,  and  things  that  are 
wonderful ;  and  the  wonderful  things  (they  predominate)  are  so 
magnificently  good  that  we  have  never  had  anything  better 
written  by  anybody ;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  anything  as 
good  has  been  written. 

About  the  same  time  V.  P.  Bdtkin  wrote  from  Peters- 
burg :  '  Tolstoy's  novel  is  having  a  really  remarkable  success  ; 
every  one  here  is  reading  it,  and  they  not  merely  read  it 
but  become  enthusiastic  about  it.' 

The  Epilogue  was  not  completed  till  late  in  1869.     On 

30th  August  Tolstoy  writes  :  '  Part  VI  [i.e.  Part  II 

1869 
of    the     Epilogue]    which     I     expected     to    have 

finished  a  month  ago,  is  not  ready ' ;  and  then  in  the  next 

sentence,  he  goes  into  ecstasies  over  Schopenhauer : 

Do  you  know  what  this  summer  has  been  for  me  ?  An  un- 
ceasing ecstasy  over  Schopenhauer,  and  a  series  of  mental 
enjoyments  such  as  I  never  experienced  before.  I  have  bought 
all  his  worksj  and  have  read  and  am  reading  them  (as  well  as 
Kant's).  And  assuredly  no  student  in  his  course  has  learnt  so 
much  and  discovered  so  much  as  I  have  during  this  summer.  I 
do  not  know  whether  I  shall  ever  change  my  opinion,  but  at 
present  I  am  confident  that  Schopenhauer  is  the  greatest  genius 
among  men.  You  said  he  had  written  something  or  other  on 
philosophic  subjects.  What  do  you  mean  by  'something  or 
other  '  ?  It  is  the  whole  world  in  an  extraordinarily  vivid  and 
beautiful  reflection.  I  have  begun  translating  him.  Won't  you 
take  up  that  work  ?  We  would  publish  it  together.  After 
reading  him  I  cannot  conceive  how  his  name  can  remain 
unknown.  The  only  explanation  is  the  one  he  so  often 
repeats,  that  except  idiots  there  is  scarcely  any  one  else  in  the 
world.  .  .  . 

He  goes  on  to  say  that  he  was  starting  next  day  for  the 
Government  of  Penza  to  look  at  an  estate  he  meant  to  buy 
*in  those  out-of-the-way  parts.'  The  servant  who  accom- 
panied Tolstoy  has  told  how  they  travelled  third  class  from 
Moscow  to  Nizhni,  and  how  Tolstoy  chatted  with  his  fellow- 
travellers,  so  that  many  of  them  took  him  '  for  a  common 


316  LEO  TOLSTOY 

man.''  The  idea  of  buying  the  estate  in  Penza  was 
ultimately  abandoned. 

He  had  by  then  completed  the  last  part  of  War  and 
Peace,  which  was  to  appear  complete  in  book  form  in 
November.  Two  volumes  had  been  published  in  1866, 
three  more  in  1868,  and  the  sixth  was  not  ready  till  this 
year,  1869.  (In  subsequent  editions  the  book  was  re- 
arranged, first  into  five  and  then  into  four  volumes.) 

Though  he  had  so  completely  conquered  the  laziness  of 
which  he  accused  himself  in  early  manhood  as  to  have 
become  a  regular,  indefatigable  and  extremely  hard  worker, 
yet  after  the  completion  of  so  gigantic  a  task  he  felt 
the  need  of  recuperation  and  in  summer  wrote  to  Fet :  '  It 
is  now  my  deadest  time  :  I  neither  write  nor  think,  but  feel 
happily  stupid,'  and  he  adds  that  he  goes  out  shooting 
woodcock  and  has  killed  eight  at  an  outing. 

That  at  this  time  he  already  felt  something  of  the 
strong  repugnance  he  so  strenuously  expressed  in  later 
years  for  luxury  and  profuse  expenditure,  is  indicated 
by  his  comment  on  the  death  of  his  acquaintance,  the 
author  V.  P.  BcStkin,  which  took  place  in  1869.  The 
latter,  a  member  of  a  wealthy  family  of  tea-merchants,  having 
lived  with  economy  till  he  knew  his  death  was  approaching, 
then  hired  a  splendid  lodging  in  Petersburg,  fitted  it  up 
with  all  possible  comfort  and  luxury,  engaged  a  chef  from 
the  kitchen  of  the  Tsarevitch,  paid  daily  attention  to  the 
dinner  menu,  and  engaged  famous  musicians  to  perform 
quartets  at  his  lodgings.  To  the  magnificent  feasts  he  gave 
every  day  (at  which,  owing  to  the  state  of  his  health,  he  him- 
self participated  chiefly  as  a  spectator)  he  gathered  a  select 
circle  of  those  friends  whose  conversation  interested  him. 
He  told  his  brother  that  these  arrangements  for  the  close  of 
his  life  gave  him  the  keenest  pleasure,  and  that  '  birds  of 
Paradise  are  singing  in  my  soul.'  On  4th  October  a  quartet 
and  a  banquet  had  been  arranged  as  usual,  and  many  guests 
were  expected — but  V.  P.  Bdtkin  lay  dead  in  his  bed. 

Tolstoy,  hearing  of  this,  wrote  to  Fet: 


MARRIAGE  817 

I  was  terribly  shocked  by  the  character  of  V.  P.  Botkin's 
death.  If  what  is  told  of  it  is  true,  it  is  terrible.  How  is  it 
that  among  his  friends  not  one  was  found  to  give  to  that 
supreme  moment  of  life  the  character  suitable  to  it  ? 

Before  JVar  and  Peace  was  finished,  the  Countess  had 
borne  four  children,  the  fourth  being  a  boy,  born  on  20th 
May  1869,  and  christened  Leo — nursing  them  all  herself,  as 
she  did  her  subsequent  children,  with  two  exceptions  men- 
tioned later  on.  Her  willingness  to  do  her  duty  in  this 
respect  was  exceptional  among  women  of  her  class,  for  the 
employment  of  wet-nurses  was  extremely  common  in  Russia. 

Up  to  the  age  of  ten,  the  children  were  taught  Russian 
and  music  by  the  Countess,  and  she  even  found  time  to  make 
their  clothes  herself  till  they  reached  that  age.  Besides 
managing  the  household,  her  brother  tells  us  that  during  the 
composition  of  War  and  Peace  she  found  time  to  copy  it 
out  no  less  than  seven  times,  a  statement  not  to  be  taken 
literally :  for  greatly  as  Tolstoy  believes  in  the  proverb  that 
'  Gold  is  got  by  sifting,"'  and  indefatigably  as  he  revises  his 
work,  not  all  the  chapters  of  War  and  Peace  will  have  been 
altered  that  number  of  times.  With  Tolstoy  the  children 
learnt  arithmetic ;  and  they  learnt  to  read  French  out  of 
illustrated  volumes  of  Jules  Verne. 

In  all  that  concerned  the  education  of  the  children,  his 
wife  at  this  time  willingly  constituted  herself  the  executant 
of  her  husband's  decisions,  which  were  based  largely  on  J.  J. 
Rousseau's  Emile,  and  were  relaxed  only  in  so  far  as  the 
Countess  was  unable  to  carry  thein  out,  and  as  Tolstoy  found 
himself  too  much  occupied  with  other  affairs  to  attempt  to 
do  so.     Later  on  there  was  less  accord  between  the  parents. 

With  the  first  child  they  tried  to  do  without  a  nurse,  but 
the  attempt  was  unsuccessful,  and  subsequently  Russian 
nurses  and  foreign  bonnes  were  employed. 

Toys  were  not  allowed  in  the  nursery,  but  much  liberty 
was  given  to  the  children.  No  violent  or  severe  punish- 
ments were  inflicted  on  them,  and  none  but  their  parents 
might  award  the  punishments  that  were  administered.    They 


318  LEO  TOLSTOY 

aimed  at  gaining  their  children's  confidence  by  timely 
petting  and  kindly  treatment. 

If  one  of  the  children  told  a  falsehood,  this  was  treated  as 
a  serious  matter,  and  the  punishment  usually  consisted  in 
the  parents  treating  the  child  coldly.  As  soon,  however,  as 
it  showed  that  it  was  really  sorry,  the  punishment  ceased ; 
but  a  child  was  never  persuaded  to  say  it  was  sorry  or  to 
promise  not  to  repeat  its  fault. 

All  the  grown-up  people  in  the  house  were  expected  to 
remember  that  children  are  apt  to  copy  and  imitate  all  that 
they  see  and  hear;  and  the  children  were  not  kept  away 
from  the  adults,  except  at  lesson  time.  Consequently  when 
eight  o**clock  came  and  the  children  went  to  bed,  Tolstoy 
would  often  remark  :  '  Now,  we  are  freer ! ' 

Partly  that  they  might  learn  English,  partly  because 
Tolstoy  believed  that  education  was  freer  in  England  than 
elsewhere,  young  English  governesses  were  engaged  to  take 
charge  of  his  children  from  the  age  of  three  to  nine.  He 
was  extremely  fortunate  in  his  first  choice,  for  the  young 
lady  remained  with  the  Tolstoys  for  six  years,  and  after  her 
marriage  continued  in  most  friendly  relations  with  the 
whole  family. 

He  aimed  at  acquainting  the  children  with  Nature,  and 
developing  their  love  of  it,  of  animals,  and  of  insects.  He 
liked  to  let  them  realise  their  impotence  and  their  complete 
dependence  on  their  elders,  but  he  always  did  this  with 
kindly  consideration. 

The  children  were  not  allowed  to  order  the  servants 
about,  but  had  to  ask  them  for  anything  they  wanted  ; 
and  that  a  good  example  might  be  set,  every  one  in  the 
house  was  expected  to  do  the  same.  This  was  the  more 
important,  because  the  peasant  servants  in  Russia,  even 
after  the  Emancipation,  were  scarcely  regarded  as  belonging 
to  the  same  race  of  human  beings  as  their  masters,  and  a 
famous  Russian  author  could  say  without  any  exaggeration, 
*  The  balcony  was  rotten.  Only  servants  went  there ;  the 
family  did  not  go  there.'     But,  to  avoid  giving  a  wrong  im- 


MARRIAGE  319 

pression,  I  must  here  make  a  reservation.  Just  because 
there  was  no  idea  of  the  two  classes  overlapping,  and  because 
so  wide  a  gap  existed  between  them  that  they  dressed  quite 
differently  (the  peasants  having  their  own  costume  and  style 
of  garments)  very  cordial  and  sincere  good  feeling  often  grew 
up  between  master  and  man,  or  between  proprietress  and 
servant,  and  real  human  interest,  such  as  is  shown  in  Tolstoy's 
descriptions  of  the  servants  in  Childhood,  and  in  his  other 
stories.  It  was,  and  is,  not  at  all  unusual  for  Russian 
servants  to  intervene  in  the  conversation  of  the  family  or 
visitors;  and  the  whole  relation  between  employers  and 
employed  was  quite  different  to  what  it  is  in  England, 
where  on  Siuidays  the  maid  might  be  mistaken  for  her 
mistress,  except  that  she  often  looks  more  attractive  than 
the  latter. 

The  plan  adopted  in  the  Yasno-Polydna  school,  where 
no  child  was  obliged  to  learn  anything  it  did  not  care  to 
learn,  had  to  be  abandoned  in  the  family ;  but  some  scope 
was  allowed  to  the  children  to  reject  what  they  had  no 
capacity  for,  and  they  were  never  punished  for  neglecting 
to  prepare  lessons,  though  they  were  rewarded  when  they 
learnt  well. 

To  illustrate  Tolstoy's  way  of  developing  the  minds  of 
those  about  him,  Behrs  tells  of  his  own  case  when,  as  a 
youth,  he  stayed  at  Yasnaya : 

Regardless  of  my  youth  at  the  time,  I  remember  that  Tolstoy 
discussed  quite  seriously  with  me  all  the  scientific  and  philo- 
sophic questions  it  came  into  my  head  to  put  to  him.  He 
always  answered  simply  and  clearly,  and  never  hesitated  to 
admit  the  fact  if  he  himself  did  not  understand  this  or  that 
matter.  Often  my  talk  with  him  took  the  form  of  a  dispute, 
on  which  I  embarked  in  spite  of  my  consciousness  of  his 
immense  superiority. 

The  children  were  always  eager  to  go  for  walks  with  their 
father,  to  answer  his  call  to  practise  Swedish  gymnastics,  and 
to  be  on  his  side  in  any  game  he  taught  them.     In  winter 


320  LEO  TOLSTOY 

they  skated  a  good  deal ;  but  clearing  the  snow  off  the 
pond  under  his  leadership  was  an  even  greater  pleasure  than 
the  skating  itself. 

Before  breakfast  he  would  ffo  for  a  walk  with  his  brother- 
in-law,  or  they  would  ride  down  to  bathe  in  the  river  that 
flows  by  one  side  of  the  estate.  At  morning  coffee  the 
whole  family  assembled,  and  it  was  generally  a  very  merry 
meal,  Tolstoy  being  up  to  all  sorts  of  jokes,  till  he  rose  with 
the  words, '  One  must  get  to  work,'  and  went  off  to  his  study, 
taking  with  him  a  tumbler  full  of  tea.  While  at  work  in 
his  room  not  even  his  wife  was  allowed  to  disturb  him ; 
though  at  one  time  his  second  child  and  eldest  daughter, 
Tatiana,  while  still  quite  a  little  girl,  was  privileged  to 
break  this  rule.  The  rare  days  (generally  in  summer) 
when  he  relaxed,  were  very  welcome  to  the  children,  for 
their  father's  presence  always  brought  life  and  animation 
with  it.  Generally  after  dinner,  before  resuming  work, 
he  would  read  a  book  not  directly  connected  with  the  task 
he  had  in  hand.  It  was  often  an  English  novel ;  and 
we  hear  of  his  reading  Anthony  Trollope  with  approval, 
Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  who,  he  says,  made  a  great  impression 
on  him,  and  Miss  Braddon.  His  dislike  of  George  Sand 
remained  unshaken,  and  he  considered  Consuelo  to  be  a 
mixture  of  the  pretentious  and  the  spurious.  Goethe 
(especially  Faust)  he  admired  ;  while  Moliere's  plays  and 
Hugo's  Les  Miserables  appealed  to  him  very  strongly 
indeed.  In  the  evening  he  was  fond  of  playing  duets  with 
his  sister.  He  used  to  find  it  hard  to  keep  up  with  her  in 
playing  long  pieces  with  which  he  was  not  quite  familiar, 
and  when  in  difficulties  he  would  say  something  to  make 
her  laugh,  and  cause  her  to  play  slower.  If  he  did  not 
succeed  by  means  of  this  ruse,  he  would  sometimes  stop  and 
solemnly  take  off  one  of  his  boots,  as  though  that  must 
infallibly  help  him  out  of  the  difficulty ;  and  he  would  then 
recommence,  with  the  remark,  '  Now,  it  will  go  all  right ! ' 

During  the  early  years  of  his  married  life  few  visitors 
came  to  Yasnaya,  except  the    numerous    members  of  the 


MARRIAGE  821 

Tolstoy-Behrs  families,  who  stayed  there  chiefly  in  summer. 
The  poet  A.  A.  Fet,  D.  A.  Dydkof,  whom  he  had  known 
from  boyhood  and  had  described  in  Youth^  N.  N.  Strdhof, 
the  philosopher  and  critic,  for  whose  judgment  he  had 
great  respect  and  whom  he  frequently  consulted  throughout 
his  literary  career,  and  Prince  L.  D.  Ouroiisof,  a  cousin  of 
the  Prince  Ourousof  he  had  known  during  the  siege  of 
Sevastopol,  seem  to  have  been  almost  the  only  friends  who 
visited  him  in  the  years  first  following  his  marriage ;  and 
this  suited  Tolstoy  very  well,  for  to  entertain  many  visitors 
would  have  seriously  interrupted  the  absorbing  work  in 
which  he  was  continually  engaged. 

Fet  has  so  often  been  mentioned  in  this  volume  that  it  is 
time  to  devote  a  few  lines  to  describing  a  man  who  has 
come  in  for  much  abuse  on  account  of  the  anti-Emancipa- 
tionist sympathies  expressed  in  some  of  his  writings.  Like 
Tolstoy,  he  had  grown  up  with  no  idea  that  it  is  incumbent 
on  men  of  education  and  capacity  to  organise  the  society  of 
which  they  are  members,  or  by  political  action  to  remedy 
such  abuses  as  inevitably  arise  among  human  beings  who 
do  not  keep  the  task  of  systematic  social  organisation  con- 
stantly in  view.  Of  the  impression  Fefs  political  opinions 
made  on  the  Liberals,  one  may  judge  by  a  remark  Tourgenef 
addressed  to  him  in  a  letter  written  in  1874  :  '  Twenty  years 
ago,  at  the  height  of  Nicholas  Fs  regime,  you  dumbfounded 
me  by  announcing  your  opinion  that  the  mind  of  man 
could  devise  nothing  superior  to  the  position  of  the  Russian 
aristocracy  of  that  day,  nor  anything  nobler  or  more 
admirable.'  The  Liberals  saw  in  Fet  a  political  reactionary 
— and  so  he  was ;  but  any  one  who  reads  his  Recollections 
may  also  see  how  large  a  measure  of  personal  worth  can  be 
combined  with  political  indifferentism — a  quality  many 
Russians  of  his  generation  were  brought  up  to  regard  as  a 
virtue.  In  private  life  he  was  a  really  worthy  man,  and 
Tolstoy  once  very  truly  remarked  to  him  : 

There  are  some  people  whose  talk  is  far  above  their  actual 
morality  ;  but  there  are  also  some  whose  talk   is  below  that 

X 


322  LEO  TOLSTOY 

level.  You  are  one  who  is  so  afraid  of  his  sermon  beins  above 
his  practice,  that  you  intentionally  talk  far  below  your  actual 
practice. 

While  still  a  young  cavalry  officer  Fet  began  to  write 
poetry,  for  which  he  had  real  talent;  and  after  leaving 
the  army  he  continued  his  literary  career  as  an  Art-for- 
Art's  -  sake  -  ist,  producing  verse  translations  of  Virgil, 
Horace,  Ovid,  Juvenal,  Catullus,  Tibullus,  Propertius,  and 
Persius,  besides  original  works  of  his  own  in  prose  and 
verse,  and  (after  Tolstoy's  suggestion,  already  recorded) 
translations  from  the  German  of  Schopenhauer's  The  World 
as  Will  and  Idea,  and  Goethe's  Faust. 

In  his  dislike,  or  perhaps  one  should  say  ignorance,  of 
politics,  commerce,  and  that  great  industrial  revolution  of 
the  Western  world  that  has  been  the  most  conspicuous 
achievement  of  the  last  one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  as  well 
as  in  his  love  of  pure  art,  chiefly  literary,  he  had  much  in 
common  with  Tolstoy.  They  could  talk  with  profound 
sympathy  of  all  that  related  to  art,  and  they  were  alike 
in  their  love  of  country  life  and  in  their  relation  to  agri- 
culture, as  well  as  in  the  fact  that  the  great  problems  of  life 
centred  for  them  round  their  own  personality  rather  than 
around  the  community  to  which  they  belonged.  Patriotic 
by  instinct,  it  was  no  part  of  their  philosophy  to  be  so ;  at 
least  they  never  dreamed  of  that  newer  patriotism  which 
seeks  to  manage  the  production  and  distribution  of  the 
national  wealth  so  that  every  member  of  the  community 
may  have  an  opportunity  to  live  in  decent  conditions. 
They  had  therefore  at  this  period  much  in  common ;  and 
one  sees  by  Tolstoy's  letters  how  greatly  they  enjoyed  each 
other's  society,  though  a  time  was  coming  when  their 
friendship  would  wane. 

Tolstoy  had  a  strong  dislike  of  leaving  home  even  for 
a  few  days.  When  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  him  to 
go  to  Moscow  he  would  grumble  at  his  hard  fate,  and 
Behrs,  when  he  accompanied  him,  noticed  how  town  life 
depressed  Tolstoy,  making  him  fidgety  and  even  irritable. 


MARRIAGE  823 

When  returning  from  a  journey,  or  a  hunting  expedition, 
he  would  express  his  anxiety  by  exclaiming,  *  If  only  all 's 
well  at  home ! '  After  he  had  been  away  from  Ydsnaya, 
Tolstoy  never  failed  to  give  the  home  party  full  and  amusing 
accounts  of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard. 

A  distinguishing  feature  of  Tolstoy,  already  remarked 
upon,  but  so  strongly  marked  that  it  can  hardly  be  insisted 
on  too  much,  was  the  ardent  and  whole-hearted  way  in  which 
he  threw  himself  into  whatever  occupation  he  took  up.  On 
this  point  Prince  D.  D.  Obolensky  says:  'I  have  seen 
Count  L.  N.  Tolstoy  in  all  phases  of  his  creative  activity. 
.  .  .  Whatever  his  occupation,  he  did  it  with  conviction, 
firmly  believing  in  the  value  of  what  he  was  doing,  and 
always  fully  absorbed  by  it.  I  remember  him  as  a  man 
of  the  world,  and  have  met  him  at  balls,  and  I  remember 
a  remark  he  once  made,  "  See  what  poetry  there  is  in 
women's  ball-dresses,  what  elegance,  how  much  thought, 
how  much  charm  even  in  the  flowers  pinned  to  the  dresses !" 
I  remember  him  as  an  ardent  sportsman,  as  a  beekeeper,  as 
a  gardener  ;  I  remember  his  enthusiasm  for  farming,  for 
tree  planting,  fruit  culture,  horse  breeding,  and  much  else.' 

A  housekeeper  who  was  with  him  for  nine  years,  said  of  him : 

The  Count  himself  looked  after  everything,  and  demanded 
extreme  cleanliness  in  the  cowhouse  and  in  the  pig-styes  and 
in  the  sheep-cot.  In  particular  he  delighted  in  his  pigs,  of 
which  he  had  as  many  as  300,  paii-ed  off  in  separate  styes.  .  .  . 
There  the  Count  would  not  allow  the  least  dirt.  Every  day  I 
and  my  assistants  had  to  wash  them  all,  and  wipe  the  floor  and 
walls  of  the  styes ;  then  the  Count,  on  passing  through  the 
piggery  of  a  morning,  would  be  very  pleased,  and  would 
remark  aloud  :  '  What  management !  .  .  .  What  good  manage- 
ment ! '  But  God  have  mercy  on  us  if  he  noticed  the  least 
dirt !  That  at  once  made  him  shout  out  angrily.  .  .  .  The 
Count  was  very  hasty,  and  a  doctor  who  used  to  come  to 
Ydsnaya  said  to  him  more  than  once  in  my  presence :  '  You 
must  not  get  so  angry.  Count,  it  is  very  bad  for  your 
health.  .  .  .'     'I  can't  help  it,'  he  would  reply.     ' I  want  to 


324  LEO  TOLSTOY 

restrain  myself,  but  can't  do  it.  That,  it  seems,  is  the  way  I 
am  made  ! '  .  .  .  His  farming  gave  the  Count  a  good  revenue 
in  those  days.  Besides  the  pigs  and  their  litters,  he  had  80 
cows,  500  good  sheep,  and  very  many  fowls.  We  used  to  make 
excellent  butter,  which  we  sold  in  Moscow  at  60  copecks 
[about  19  pence]  a  lb. 

His  management  of  property  was  characteristically  per- 
sonal. He  never  took  shares  in  any  joint-stock  company, 
but  he  bought  land,  bred  cattle  and  horses  of  good  quality, 
planted  a  large  apple-orchard,  as  well  as  a  quantity  of  other 
trees,  and  in  general  he  acquired  property  he  could  manage 
himself,  or  (for  he  entrusted  the  management  of  his  Samdra 
estates  to  stewards)  over  which  he  had  full  control.  He  has 
always  been  more  alive  to  the  dangers  and  evils  of  com- 
mercial companies  and  large  engineering  and  industrial 
undertakings,  than  to  the  good  they  have  achieved  by 
irrigating  arid  lands,  uniting  distant  realms,  and  lightening 
man's  toil  by  making  iron  bear  some  of  his  burdens  for  him. 

Tolstoy  furnishes  an  example  of  the  well-known  fact  that 
men  of  artistic  temperament  are  often  untidy.  Though  he 
acknowledges  the  advantages  of  neatness  in  general,  he  often 
remarked  that  it  is  a  quality  most  frequently  found  in 
shallow  natures.  He  himself  simply  could  not,  and  there- 
fore did  not  try  to,  keep  his  things  in  order.  When  he 
undressed  he  let  his  clothes  or  boots  drop  where  he  stood ; 
and  if  he  happened  to  be  moving  from  place  to  place,  his 
garments  remained  strewn  about  the  room,  and  sometimes 
on  the  floor.     Behrs  remarks  . 

I  noticed  that  to  pack  his  things  for  a  journey  cost  him  great 
effort,  and  when  I  accompanied  him  I  used  very  willingly  to  do 
it  for  him,  and  thereby  pleased  him  very  much.  I  remember 
that  once,  for  some  reason,  I  did  not  at  all  wish  to  pack  for 
him.  He  noticed  this,  and  with  characteristic  delicacy  did  not 
ask  me  to,  but  put  his  things  into  his  portmanteau  himself;  and 
I  can  assert  positively  that  no  one  else,  were  they  to  try,  could 
have  got  them  into  such  fearful  disorder  as  they  were  in,  in  that 
portmanteau. 


MARRIAGE  325 

It  was  a  peculiarity  of  Tolstoy's  that  he  not  only  liked  to 
have  his  own  sleep  out  without  being  disturbed,  but  that  he 
never  could  or  would  wake  any  one  from  sleep,  and  in  cases 
of  absolute  necessity  would  ask  some  one  else  to  relieve  him 
of  that  disagreeable  task. 

Behrs  recounts  that  when  they  sat  up  late,  the  man-servant 
sometimes  fell  asleep  in  his  chair  and  omitted  to  serve  up 
the  cold  supper.  Tolstoy  would  never  allow  him  to  be  dis- 
turbed on  these  occasions,  but  would  himself  go  to  the 
pantry  to  fetch  the  supper,  and  would  do  this  stealthily, 
and  with  the  greatest  caution,  so  that  it  became  a  kind  of 
amusing  game.  He  would  get  quite  cross  with  Behrs  if  the 
latter  accidentally  let  the  plates  clatter  or  made  any  other 
noise. 

Many  years  later,  alluding  in  my  presence  to  this  peculi- 
arity of  his,  Tolstoy  remarked,  '  While  a  man  is  asleep  he 
is  at  any  rate  not  sinning.' 

On  4th  February  1870  Tolstoy  wrote  to  Fet :  1870 

I  received  your  letter,  dear  Afanasy  Afanasyevitch,  on  1st 
February,  but  even  had  I  received  it  somewhat  sooner  I  could 
not  have  come.  You  write,  '  I  am  alone,  alone ! '  And  when  I 
read  it  I  thought.  What  a  lucky  fellow — alone !  I  have  a  wife, 
three  children,  and  a  fourth  at  the  breast,  two  old  aunts^  a  nurse, 
and  two  housemaids.  And  they  are  all  ill  together  :  fever,  high 
temperature,  weakness,  headaches,  and  coughs.  In  that  state 
your  letter  found  me.  They  are  now  beginning  to  get  better, 
but  out  of  ten  people,  I  and  my  old  aunt  alone  turn  up  at  the 
dinner  table.  And  since  yesterday  I  myself  am  ill  with  my 
chest  and  side.  There  is  much,  very  much,  I  want  to  tell  you 
about.  I  have  been  reading  a  lot  of  Shakespear,  Goethe, 
Poiishkin,  Gogol,  and  Moliere,  and  about  all  of  them  there 
is  much  I  want  to  say  to  you.  I  do  not  take  in  a  single 
magazine  or  newspaper  this  year,  and  I  consider  it  very  useful 
not  to. 

S.  A.  Behrs  tells  us  that  Tolstoy  '  never  read  newspapers, 
and  considered  them  useless,  and  when  they  contain  false 
news,  even  harmful.     In  his  humorous  way  he  would  some- 


326  LEO  TOLSTOY 

times  parody  a  newspaper  style  when  speaking  of  domestic 
affairs.'  His  attitude  towards  journalists  and  critics  (except 
his  friend  Strdhof)  was  rather  scornful,  and  he  was  indignant 
when  any  one  classed  them  even  with  third-rate  authors. 
He  considered  that  it  is  a  misuse  of  the  printing-press  to 
publish  so  much  that  is  unnecessary,  uninteresting,  and 
worst  of  all,  inartistic.  He  seldom  read  criticisms  of  his 
own  work.  '  His  feeling  towards  periodicals  in  general  had 
its  source  in  his  intense  dislike  of  the  exploitation  of  works 
of  art.  He  would  smile  contemptuously  at  hearing  it  sug- 
gested that  a  real  artist  produces  his  works  for  the  sake  of 
money.' 

Having  said  this  much  about  his  characteristics  and 
peculiarities,  let  us  note  the  extent  to  which  his  life  and 
mode  of  thought  at  this  time  approximated  to  his  later 
teaching.  His  humane  relations  towards  the  peasants,  his 
condemnation  of  many  of  the  manifestations  of  modern 
civilisation,  his  simplicity  in  household  matters  and  dress, 
his  exemplary  family  life,  humane  educational  ideals,  deep 
love  of  sincerity  and  of  industry  (including  physical  labour), 
his  ardent  search  for  truth  and  for  self-improvement,  his 
gradually  increasing  accessibility  to  and  regard  for  others, 
his  undoubted  love  of  family  and  his  hatred  of  violence — 
indicate  that  the  ideals  of  his  later  life  were  not  very  far 
from  him,  even  before  the  commencement  of  the  conversion 
told  of  in  his  Confession. 

On  17th  February  Tolstoy  writes  to  Fet: 

I  hoped  to  visit  you  the  night  of  the  14th^  but  could  not  do 
so.  As  I  wrote  you,  we  were  all  illj — I  last.  I  went  out 
yesterday  for  the  first  time.  What  stopped  me  was  pain  in  the 
eyes,  which  is  increased  by  wind  and  sleeplessness.  I  now,  to 
my  great  regret,  have  to  postpone  my  visit  to  you  till  Lent.  I 
must  go  to  Moscow  to  take  my  aunt  to  my  sister's,  and  to  see 
an  oculist  about  my  eyes. 

It  is  a  pity  that  one  can  only  get  to  your  place  after  passing 
a  sleepless,  cigarette-smoky,  stuffy,  railway-carriage,  conversa- 
tional night.     You  want  to  read  rae  a  story  of  cavalry  life.  .  .  • 


MARRIAGE  327 

And  I  don't  want  to  read  you  anything,  because  I  am  not 
writing  anything ;  but  I  very  much  want  to  talk  about  Shake- 
spear  and  Goethe  and  the  drama  in  general.  This  whole  winter 
I  am  occupied  only  with  the  drama ;  and  it  happens  to  me,  as 
it  usually  happens  to  people  who  till  they  are  forty  have  not 
thought  of  a  certain  subject  or  formed  any  conception  of  it, 
and  then  suddenly  with  forty-year-old  clearness  turn  their 
attention  to  this  new  untasted  subject — it  seems  to  them  that 
they  discern  in  it  much  that  is  new.  All  winter  I  have  enjoyed 
myself  lying  down,  drowsing,  playing  bezique,  going  on  snow- 
shoes,  skating,  and  most  of  all  lying  in  bed  (ill)  while  characters 
from  a  drama  or  comedy  have  performed  for  me.  And  they 
perform  very  well.  It  is  about  that  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  In 
that,  as  in  everything,  you  are  a  classic,  and  understand  the 
essence  of  the  matter  very  deeply.  I  should  like  also  to  read 
Sophocles  and  Euripides. 

There  we  see  Tolstoy,  as  always,  ardently  devoting  his 
attention  to  some  great  subject — which  happens,  this  time, 
to  be  dramatic  art.  So  keen  is  he,  that  his  mind  is  full 
of  it  whatever  else  he  may  be  doing ;  and  so  vivid  is  his 
imagination  that  the  characters  of  the  plays  perform 
for  him  whether  he  is  standing  up  or  lying  down.  How 
real  a  grip  he  obtained  of  the  subject  with  very  little 
theatre-going,  was  shown  seventeen  years  later,  when  he 
wrote  one  of  the  most  powerful  dramas  ever  produced, 
and  followed  it  up  by  an  excellent  comedy  :  both  pieces 
being  so  good  that  they  are  constantly  revived  in 
Russian  theatres,  besides  having  achieved  success  in  other 
countries. 

At  the  point  we  have  reached  there  was  no  break  in  the 
manner  of  Tolstoy's  life.  He  continued  to  live  quietly  at 
Yisnaya,  and  to  concern  himself  chiefly  with  literature, 
and  also  with  the  management  of  his  estates  and  the  welfare 
of  his  family.  Children  continued  to  be  born  in  rapid 
succession,  and  with  the  increasing  family  his  means  also 
increased.  But  we  have  come  to  the  middle  of  that  tranquil 
period  of  sixteen  years  which  succeeded  his  marriage,  and 


328  LEO  TOLSTOY 

here,  while — as  one  would  say  of  another  man — he  was 
indefatigably  studying  the  drama;  or  while — as  one  is 
inclined  to  say  of  him — he  was  resting  and  recuperating 
before  undertaking  his  next  great  work,  it  is  convenient  to 
close  this  chapter. 

CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  IX 

Birukof. 

Fet. 

Behrs. 

Bitort. 

Yasnaya  Polyana,  P.  A.  Sergeyenko  :  Niva,  No.  34,  1908. 

L.  N.  Tolstoy;  Monografiya  Andreevitcha  :  Petersburg,  1905. 

For  much  information  in  this  chapter  as  well  as  elsewhere  I 
am  indebted  to  Tolstoy  himself,  to  the  Countess  S.  A.  Tolstoy,  to 
his  sister,  and  particularly  to  his  daughter,  Mary  Lvovna,  Princess 
Obolensky. 

Information  concerning  the  execution  of  the  soldier  is  given  in 
Pravo  for  1903. 

Prince  D.  D.  Obolensky's  V ospominaniya  appeared  in  Roussky 
Arhiv,  1896. 

See  also,  Crraf  L.  N.  Tolstoy,  Vospominaniya  S.  P.  Arbouzova : 
Moscow,  1908. 

Arbouzof  was  in  Tolstoy's  service  twenty-two  years.  He  gives  his 
master  an  excellent  character  ;  and  though  very  inaccurate,  his  naive 
chatter  is  readable,  and  throws  light  oa  Tolstoy's  character. 


CHAPTER    X 

NEARIXG    THE    CRISIS 

Fet's  poem.  Franco-Prussian  war.  Studies  Greek.  Effect 
on  health.  Railways.  Koumj's  cure  in  Samara.  Mouhamet- 
Dzhan.  An  expedition.  '  Milk-loving  Scythians.'  Buys 
estate.  Molokans.  Tourgenefs  interest.  ABC  Book. 
House  enlarged.  On  future  life.  Re-starts  school.  Pre- 
paration of  ABC  Book.  Astronomy.  A  Prisoner  in  the 
Caucasus.  God  Sees  the  Tjnith.  Ceremonial  rites,  Strahof 
and  the  ABC  Book.  Samara.  Bull  kills  keeper.  Teachers' 
Congress  at  Yasnaya.  A  letter  in  verse.  Peter  the  Great. 
A  suicide.  Anna  Karenina.  Mouhamed  Shah.  Samara 
famine.  Kramskoy's  portrait  Death  of  son^  Peter. 
Addresses  Moscow  Society  of  Literacy.  A  practical 
demonstration.  Test  schools.  The  Fatherland  Journal:  On 
the  Education  of  the  People.  Mihayldvsky.  '  A  University 
in  bark  shoes.'  Toula  Zemstvo  Education  Committee. 
Tourge'nef  translates  Tolstoy.  Birth  of  a  son.  Death  of 
Aunt  Tatiaua.  ABC  Book  approved.  Wife's  health.  Anna 
Karenina.  Death  of  a  son.  Tourge'nef  on  Tolstoy's  writings. 
Samara.  Primitive  agriculture.  Fete  and  horse  races. 
Bashkir  life.  Education  of  his  children.  Exercises  and 
playfulness.  Croquet.  '  Numidian  cavalry.'  Birth  and 
death  of  a  daughter.  Aunt  P.  I.  tJshkof  dies.  Letters  to 
Fet.  Nirvana  and  Sansara.  Anna  Karenina.  '  Summer 
condition.'  Horse-breeding.  Loss  of  Gouneba.  Music. 
P.  I.  Tschaikovsky.  At  the  Conservatoire.  Folk-songs. 
Beethoven.  Tolstoy  on  art.  Approach  of  war.  Rupture 
with  Katkof.  The  Evangelicals.  An  epitaph.  Professor 
Boutlerof.  The  Deity.  Optin  Monastery.  A  folk-story 
teller.  Turkish  prisoners.  Son,  Ar  drew,  born.  Ill-health. 
The  Decembrists.    'Martha  is  troubl)  d.'    Reconciliation  with 

Tourge'nef.    Samara.    Tourge'nef  at  Yasnaya.   Their  relations 

S2d 


S30  LEO  TOLSTOY 

still    not    cordial.      Pilgrims.      N.    Tchaykovsky.      Mihay- 
lovsky's  forecast.     V.  I.  Alexeyef. 

As  he  grew  older  Tolstoy's  love  of  outdoor  exercise  tended 
more  towards  activity  serving  a  useful  productive 
purpose,  and  one  finds  a  hint  of  this  in  the  following 

letter  to  Fet,  dated  11th  May  1870 : 

I  received  your  letter,  dear  friend,  when  returning  per- 
spiring home  from  work,  with  axe  and  spade,  and  when  there- 
fore I  was  a  thousand  miles  from  things  artistic  in  general, 
and  from  our  business  in  particular.  On  opening  the  letter 
I  first  read  the  poem  and  felt  a  sensation  in  my  nose.  On 
coming  home  to  my  wife  I  tried  to  read  it  to  her,  but  could  not 
do  so  for  tears  of  emotion.  The  poem  is  one  of  those  rare  ones 
in  which  not  a  word  could  be  added  or  subtracted  or  altered : 
it  is  a  live  thing,  and  admirable.  .  .  . 

I  have  just  served  for  a  week  as  juryman,  and  found  it  very 
interesting  and  instructive. 

The  next  letter  refers  to  the  fact  that  Tolstoy  did  his 
best  literary  work  in  winter,  when  he  often  spent  almost 
the  whole  day,  and  sometimes  part  of  the  night,  at  it ;  that 
was  the  time  when  his  '  sap  flowed ' : 

2  Oct.  1870. 
It  is  long  since  we  met,  and  in  my  winter  condition,  which 
I  am  now  entering,  I  am  specially  glad  to  see  you.  I  have  been 
shooting ;  but  the  sap  is  beginning  to  flow,  and  I  am  collecting 
it  as  it  drips.  Whether  it  be  good  or  bad  sap,  it  is  pleasant  to 
let  it  flow  in  these  long  wonderful  autumn  evenings.  ...  A 
grief  has  befallen  me  ;  the  mare  is  ill.  The  veterinary  says  her 
wind  has  been  broken,  but  I  cannot  have  broken  it. 


The  Franco-Prussian  war,  which  commenced  at  this  time, 
interested  Tolstoy  keenly.  He  had  come  into  contact  with 
the  French,  in  the  Crimea,  before  the  Napoleonic  autocracy 
had  long  held  sway ;  and  he  had  visited  France  in  1857 
and  1860,  before  the  effect  of  that  putrescent  influence  had 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  831 

become  fully  apparent.  Neither  the  idea  of  German  national 
unity,  nor  Bismarck's  and  Moltke's  ideal  of  efficient  organi- 
sation and  discipline,  were  things  that  much  appealed  to 
Tolstoy.  So  it  happened  that  not  only  were  all  his  sym- 
pathies on  the  side  of  the  French,  but  he  also  felt  assured 
of  their  triumph.  His  friend  Prince  Ourousof  used  to 
write  letters  to  Katkdfs  Moscow  Gazette  demonstrating 
by  analogies  with  games  of  chess,  that  the  French  were 
continually  drawing  the  German  armies  into  more  and 
more  desperate  positions  in  which  they  must  soon  be  quite 
destroyed.  When,  on  the  contrary,  the  French  were  utterly 
defeated,  it  came  to  him  as  a  complete  surprise;  which  all 
tends  to  illustrate  the  fact  that  men  of  great  intellectual 
power,  living  isolated  on  their  country  estates,  may  at  times 
go  very  considerably  wrong  in  their  estimate  of  the  trend 
of  some  of  the  forces  that  influence  the  world. 

On  12  February  1871  a  daughter  was  born,  who  was 
christened  Mary.  In  later  life  she,  of  all  his  children,  was 
the  one  most  deeply  influenced  by  her  father's  teaching. 
The  Countess,  who,  as  already  mentioned,  made  a  point  of 
nursing  her  own  children,  owing  to  the  neglect  of  an 
attendant,  became  unable  to  do  so  in  this  instance  before 
the  child  was  many  weeks  old,  and  a  wet-nurse  was  engaged ; 
but  as  soon  as  the  mother  saw  her  child  at  a  stranger's 
breast  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  jealous  tears,  dismissed  the 
nurse  on  the  spot,  and  ordered  the  child  to  be  fed  with 
a  bottle.  Tolstoy,  when  he  heard  what  had  happened, 
declared  that  his  wife  had  only  shown  the  jealous  affection 
natural  to  a  true  mother. 

During  that  winter  Tolstoy  devoted  himself  strenuously 
to  the  study  of  Greek.  On  hearing  of  this,  Fet  felt  so 
sure  that  Tolstoy  would  not  succeed,  that  he  1870- 
announced  his  readiness  to  devote  his  own  skin  1871 
for  parchment  for  Tolstoy's  diploma  of  proficiency  when 
the  latter  should  have  qualified  himself  to  receive  it. 
Accordingly,  in  December,  Tolstoy  wrote  him  as  follows : 


332  LEO  TOLSTOY 

I  received  your  letter  a  week  ago,  but  have  not  answered 
because  from  morning  to  night  I  am  learning  Greek.  I  am 
writing  nothing,  only  learning ;  and  to  judge  by  information 
reaching  me  through  Borisof,  your  skin  (to  be  used  as  parch- 
ment for  my  diploma  in  Greek)  is  in  some  danger.  Improbable 
and  astounding  as  it  may  seem,  I  have  read  Xenophon,  and  can 
now  read  him  at  sight.  For  Homer,  a  dictionary  and  some 
effort  is  still  necessary.  I  eagerly  await  a  chance  of  showing 
this  new  trick  to  some  one.  But  how  glad  I  am  that  God  sent 
this  folly  upon  me  !  In  the  first  place  I  enjoy  it;  and  secondly, 
I  have  become  convinced  that  of  all  that  human  language  has 
produced  truly  beautiful  and  simply  beautiful,  I  knew  nothing 
(like  all  the  others  who  know  but  do  not  understand) ;  and 
thirdly,  because  I  have  ceased  to  write,  and  never  more  will 
write,  wordy  rubbish.  I  am  guilty  of  having  done  so ;  but  by 
God  I  won't  do  it  any  more !  Explain  to  me,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  why  no  one  knows  Esop's  fables,  or  even  delightful 
Xenophon,  not  to  mention  Plato  and  Homer,  whom  I  still  have 
before  me .''  In  so  far  as  I  can  as  yet  judge,  our  translations, 
made  on  German  models,  only  spoil  Homer.  To  use  a  banal 
but  involuntary  comparison :  they  are  like  boiled  and  distilled 
water,  while  he  is  like  water  fresh  from  the  spring,  striking  the 
teeth  with  its  sun-lit  sparkle :  even  its  specks  only  making  it 
seem  still  clearer  and  fresher.  .  .  .  You  may  triumph :  without 
a  knowledge  of  Greek,  there  is  no  education.  But  what  kind 
of  knowledge  .''  How  is  it  to  be  got  ?  What  is  the  use  of  it  ? 
To  this  I  have  replies  clear  as  daylight. 

S.  A.  Behrs  tells  us,  '  I  know  for  a  fact  that  he  learnt 
the  language  and  read  Herodotus  in  three  months.'  While 
in  Moscow  that  winter,  he  visited  Ledntief,  then 
Professor  of  Greek  at  the  Katkdf  Lyceum,  to  talk 
about  Greek  literature.  Ledntief  did  not  wish  to  believe 
in  the  possibility  of  his  having  learnt  Greek  so  rapidly, 
and  proposed  that  they  should  read  something  at  sight. 
It  happened  that  they  differed  as  to  the  meaning  of 
three  passages ;  but  after  a  little  discussion  the  Professor 
admitted  that  the  Count's  interpretations  were  right. 

Tolstoy  felt  the  charm  of  the  literary  art  of  the  ancient 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  833 

world,  and  so  keen  was  his  power  of  entering  into  the  minds 
of  those  of  whom  he  read,  and  so  different  to  his  own  was 
the  Greek  outlook  upon  life,  that  the  contradiction  pro- 
duced in  him  a  feeling  of  melancholy  and  apathy  profound 
enough  to  affect  his  health. 

What  clash  of  ideals  it  was  that  produced  this  result  we 
may  guess  when  we  consider  how  from  his  earliest  years 
he  had  been  attracted  by  the  Christian  ideal  of  meek- 
ness, humility,  and  self-sacrifice,  and  how  little  this  accords 
with  the  outlook  on  life  of  the  ancient  Greeks.  In  a  book 
written  nearly  forty  years  later,  Tolstoy  tells  us  that  '  If,  as 
was  the  case  among  the  Greeks,  religion  places  the  meaning 
of  life  in  earthly  happiness,  in  beauty  and  in  strength,  then 
art  successfully  transmitting  the  joy  and  energy  of  life, 
would  be  considered  good  art'  [good,  that  is,  in  its  subject- 
matter  of  feeling  conveyed]  but  art  transmitting  the  oppo- 
site feelings  would  be  bad  art.^  Again  in  the  same  work  he 
says  that  the  esthetic  theory  he  is  combating,  seeks  to  make 
it  appear  '  that  the  very  best  that  can  be  done  by  the  art 
of  nations  after  1900  years  of  Christian  teaching,  is  to 
choose  as  the  ideal  of  life  the  ideal  held  by  a  small,  semi- 
savage,  slave-holding  people  who  lived  2000  years  ago, 
imitated  the  nude  human  body  extremely  well,  and  erected 
buildings  pleasant  to  look  at.""^ 

To  wean  him  from  his  absorption  in  Greek  literature,  his 
wife  at  first  urged  him  to  take  up  some  fresh  literary  work  ; 
and  finally,  becoming  seriously  alarmed  for  his  health,  in- 
duced him  to  go  eastward  for  a  koumys  cure.  He  wrote  to 
Fet  at  this  time  : 

10  June  1871. 

Dear  Friend, — I  have  long  not  written  to  you,  nor  been  to 
see  you,  because  I  was,  and  still  am,  ill.  I  don't  myself  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  me,  but  it  seems  like  something  bad  or 
good,  according  to  the  name  we  give  to  our  exit.  Loss  of 
strength,   and   a   feeling  that  one  needs   nothing  and   wants 

^  IVAat  is  Art?  p.  54:  Constable,  London,  and  Funk  and  Wagnalls 
Co.,  New  York.  »  Ibid.,  p.  65. 


334  LEO  TOLSTOY 

nothing  but  quiet,  which  one  has  not  got.  My  wife  is  sending 
me  to  Samara  or  Saratof  for  two  months  for  a  koum;fs  cure. 
I  leave  for  Moscow  to-day,  and  shall  there  learn  where  I  am  to 
goto. 

In  Moscow  it  was  decided  that  he  should  go  to  the  part 
of  Samara  he  had  visited  before. 

Railways  have  always  been  an  affliction  to  Tolstoy. 
Civilisation  has  forced  them  on  him  without  his  wish,  and, 
as  he  argued  in  his  educational  articles,  to  the  detriment  of 
the  peasant  population.  Personally,  he  complained  of  dis- 
agreeable sensations  he  experienced  when  travelling  by  rail, 
and  compared  these  discomforts  with  the  pleasure  of  riding 
on  horseback.  He  objected  both  to  the  officious  politeness  of 
the  conductors  and  to  the  way  in  which  the  passengers  sus- 
piciously shun  one  another.  (This  latter  complaint  is  not  one 
a  Westerner  would  bring  against  Russians,  for  they  appear 
to  us  the  most  friendly  and  sociable  of  fellow-travellers.) 
He  used  to  insist  on  his  wife  always  travelling  first  class. 
He  himself  went  either  first  or  third,  but  seldom  second. 
To  travel  third  is  a  more  serious  matter  in  Russia  than  in 
England  ;  and  he  used  purposely  to  choose  a  car  in  which 
there  were  peasants,  and  talked  to  all  whom  he  met. 

On  this  outward  journey  he  went  third  class,  by  rail  to 
Nizhni  Novgorod  and  by  steamer  down  the  Volga  to  the 
town  of  Samdra.  On  the  boat  he  took  the  opportunity  to 
study  the  manners  and  customs  of  his  fellow-passengers, 
natives  of  the  Volga  district,  and  displayed  his  remarkable 
gift  of  making  friends  with  people  of  all  kinds.  Before 
he  had  been  two  days  on  the  boat  he  was  on  the  friendliest 
terms  with  everybody,  including  the  sailors,  among  whom 
he  slept  each  night  in  the  fore  part  of  the  vessel.  Even 
when  he  met  reserved  or  surly  characters,  it  was  not  long 
before  he  drew  them  out  of  their  shells,  and  set  them 
chatting  at  their  ease.  One  secret  of  this  success  was  the 
unaffected  interest  he  took  in  learning  about  other  people's 
lives  and  affairs. 

From  Samdra  Tolstoy  went  eastward  for  eighty  miles  on 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  335 

horseback,  following  the  banks  of  the  river  Karalyk  till  he 
reached  the  village  of  that  name.  He  had  lived  there 
in  1862,  and  was  welcomed  as  an  old  acquaintance  and 
friend  by  the  Bashkirs,  who  always  spoke  of  him  as  'The 
Count.'  The  reader  will  remember  that  at  the  University 
Tolstoy  had  studied  oriental  languages.  His  knowledge  of 
Tartar  no  doubt  increased  his  popularity  with  the  Bashkirs. 
He  had  with  him  a  man-servant,  and  his  brother-in-law, 
Stepan  Andreyevitch  Behrs,  then  a  lad  of  about  sixteen, 
who  subsequently  in  his  Recollectioiis  gave  many  par- 
ticulars about  this  outing.  They  lived,  not  in  the  '  winter 
village'  of  Karalyk,  but  about  one-and-a-half  miles  away,  in 
a  TcotcMvka  on  the  open  steppe.  A  Jiotchevka  is  a  conical 
tent,  made  of  a  collapsible  wooden  frame  covered  with 
large  sheets  of  felt.  It  has  a  small  painted  door,  and  is 
usually  carpeted  with  soft  feather  grass.  The  one  in  which 
Tolstoy's  party  lived,  was  a  very  large  one  which  he  hired 
from  the  Mullah  (priest).  It  had  formerly  been  used  as  a 
mosque,  but  had  the  practical  disadvantage  of  not  being 
rain-proof.  There  were  four  TxotchevM  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, one  of  which  was  occupied  by  the  Mullah. 

On  first  arriving  at  Karalyk,  Tolstoy  for  some  days  felt 
very  depressed  and  unwell.  He  complained  that  he  lacked 
capacity  to  feel  either  mental  or  physical  pleasure,  and 
looked  at  everything  '  as  though  he  were  a  corpse ' :  a  charac- 
teristic usually  most  foreign  to  him,  and  which  in  other 
people  always  evoked  his  dislike.  It  was,  however,  not  long 
before  he  recovered  his  spirits  and  energy. 

There  were  other  visitors  at  Karalyk,  who  had  also  come 
to  benefit  by  a  koumys  cure.  They  neither  associated  with 
the  Bashkir  nomads,  nor  adopted  their  customs ;  but  Tolstoy 
was  extremely  fond  of  the  Bashkirs,  associated  much  with 
them,  and  strictly  followed  their  diet :  avoiding  all  vegetable 
foods  and  restricting  himself  to  meat  and  animal  products. 
Dinner  every  day  consisted  chiefly  of  mutton  eaten  with 
the  fingers  out  of  wooden  bowls. 

Some  of  the  Russian  visitors  lived  in  one  of  the  kotchivki. 


336  LEO  TOLSTOY 

but  most  of  them  lodged  in  the  'winter  village.'  Tolstoy 
soon  made  friends  with  them  all,  and  thanks  to  his  genial 
influence  the  whole  place  grew  gay  and  lively.  A  professor  of 
Greek  from  a  Seminary  for  the  education  of  priests  might  be 
seen  trying  a  skipping-rope  match  with  him  ;  a  procureur's 
assistant  discussed  legal  and  other  questions,  and  there  was 
a  young  Samdra  farmer  who  became  his  devoted  follower. 

Among  those  who  specially  interested  Tolstoy  was 
Mouhamet-Dzhan,  the  Bashkir  Elder,  whom  the  Russian 
peasants  called  Michael  Ivanovitch.  This  man  was  very 
nimble  and  active,  full  of  humour,  fond  of  a  joke,  and  a 
very  strong  player  at  draughts. 

Accompanied  by  Behrs  and  two  of  their  new  acquaint- 
ances, and  taking  a  supply  of  guns  and  presents,  Tolstoy 
went  for  a  four  days'  drive  through  the  neighbouring  villages. 
The  party  had  splendid  duck-shooting  by  the  lakes  they 
passed ;  and  they  were  entertained  and  treated  to  koumys 
by  the  Bashkirs  at  the  liotcMvkas  in  which  they  rested.  As 
opportunity  presented  itself,  they  made  suitable  acknow- 
ledgment for  their  entertainment  by  giving  presents  to 
their  hosts.  One  serious  drawback  to  the  hospitality  they 
enjoyed  was  the  fact  that  their  hosts  insisted  on  feeding 
them  with  mutton  and  fat  with  their  own  hands,  without 
the  intermediacy  of  fork  or  spoon,  and  it  was  out  of  the 
question  to  insult  them  by  refusing  such  well-meant  though 
quite  undesired  attentions. 

On  one  occasion  Tolstoy  happened  to  admire  a  horse  that 
had  separated  from  its  herd,  and  remarked  to  Behrs,  '  See 
what  a  beautiful  specimen  of  milking  mare  that  is.'  When, 
an  hour  later,  they  were  taking  leave,  their  host  tied  this 
animal  to  their  conveyance,  thus  presenting  it  to  his  visitor. 
Of  course,  on  the  return  journey,  Tolstoy  had  to  make  an 
equivalent  present  in  return. 

Another  incident  of  this  stay  in  the  Government  of 
Samdra,  was  a  visit  to  the  Petrdvsky  Fair,  which  is  held  once 
a  year  at  Bouzoulouk,  a  small  town  some  fifty  miles  from 
Karalyk.     Here   Russians,  Bashkirs,  Oural    Cossacks,   and 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  337 

Kirghiz  mingled  with  one  another ;  and  Tolstoy  was  soon  on 
a  friendly  footing  with  them  all.  He  would  chat  and  laugh 
with  them  even  when  they  were  drunk  ;  but  when  one  in 
that  condition  took  it  into  his  head  to  embrace  the  Count, 
Tolstoy's  look  was  so  stern  and  impressive  that  the  fellow 
drew  back  his  hands  and  let  them  fall,  saying,  '  No,  never 
mind,  it 's  all  right ! ' 

The  following  letter  of  18th  July  1871,  to  Fet,  relates  to 
Tolstoy's  experience  of  the  nomadic  Bashkirs  : 

Thank  you  for  your  letter,  dear  friend !  It  seems  that  my 
wife  gave  a  false  alarm  when  she  packed  me  off  for  a  koumys 
cure  and  persuaded  me  that  I  was  ill.  At  any  rate  now^  after 
four  weeks,  I  seem  to  have  quite  recovered.  And  as  is  proper 
when  one  is  taking  a  koum;^s  cure,  I  am  drunk  and  sweat  from 
morn  to  night,  and  find  pleasure  in  it.  It  is  vei'y  good  here, 
and  were  it  not  for  family  home-sickness,  I  should  be  quite 
happy.  Were  I  to  begin  describing,  I  should  fill  a  hundred 
pages  with  this  country  and  my  own  occupations.  I  am  read- 
ing Herodotus,  who  describes  in  detail  and  with  great  accuracy 
these  same  galactophagous  [gluttonous-for-milk]  Scythians 
among  whom  I  am  living. 

I  began  this  letter  yesterday,  and  wrote  that  I  was  well. 
To-day  my  side  aches  again.  I  do  not  myself  know  in  how  far 
I  am  ill,  but  it  is  bad  that  I  am  obliged  to  think — and  cannot 
help  thinking — about  my  side  and  my  chest.  This  is  the  third 
day  that  the  heat  has  been  terrible.  In  the  kibiika  [tent]  it  is  as 
hot  as  on  the  shelf  of  a  Russian  bath,  but  I  like  it.  The  country 
here  is  beautiful — in  its  age  just  emerging  from  virginity,  in  its 
richness,  its  health,  and  especially  in  its  simplicity  and  its  un- 
perverted  population.  Here  as  everywhere  I  am  looking  round 
for  an  estate  to  buy.  This  affords  me  an  occupation,  and  is  the 
best  excuse  for  getting  to  know  the  real  condition  of  the  district. 

After  a  six  weeks'  stay  Tolstoy  returned  to  Y^snaya, 
travelling  first  class  on  the  return  journey. 

His  search  for  an  estate  had  been  successful,  and  after 
persuading  his  wife  that  the  investment  was  a  sound  one, 
he  purchased  two  thousand  acres  on  his  return  to  Moscow. 

The  change  of  scene,  or  some  other  influence,  weakened 

Y 


338  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Tolstoy ""s  absorption  in  Greek  literature ;  and  a  huge  dic- 
tionary he  had  taken  with  him,  was  used  by  his  brother-in- 
law  to  press  a  collection  of  local  wildflowers. 

During  his  wanderings  on  the  steppe,  Tolstoy  met  many 
Molokans,  members  of  a  kind  of  Bible-Christian  peasant 
sect.  They  base  their  faith  on  the  Bible,  reject  the  Greek 
Church  with  its  traditions,  priesthood,  dogmas,  ritual, 
sacraments,  and  icons.  The  name  Molokan,  or  Milk- 
Drinker,  probably  arose  from  the  fact  that,  not  observing 
the  Russian  fasts,  these  people  do  not  scruple  to  drink  milk 
in  Lent.  They  are  said  to  be  distinguished  by  an  honesty 
and  industry  not  found  among  their  Orthodox  neighbours  ; 
and  they  abstain  from  all  intoxicants. 

It  interested  Tolstoy  to  mix  with  these  people,  and  he 
liked  to  discuss  their  beliefs,  especially  with  a  venerable 
leader  of  theirs,  named  Aggey.  It  so  happened  that  in 
the  neighbouring  village  of  Patrovka  there  was  a  very 
worthy  young  Russian  priest,  who  was  eager  to  convert  the 
Molokdns,  and  occasionally  arranged  debates  with  them 
on  religious  subjects.  Tolstoy  sometimes  attended  these 
debates :  his  object  being  not  so  much  to  convert  the 
Molokans,  as  to  understand  the  points  on  which  they 
differed  from  the  Russo-Greek  Church.  He  also  took  an 
interest  in  the  Mohammedan  faith  of  his  Bashkir  friends, 
and  on  his  return  to  Yasnaya  read  through  a  French  trans- 
lation of  the  Koran. 

A  few  years  later  Tolstoy  associated  much  with  the 
representatives  of  various  sects  and  faiths,  being  then 
profoundly  interested  in  their  beliefs;  but  at  this  time, 
his  interest  in  such  matters  was  only  beginning  to  make 
itself  felt. 

A  letter  of  Tourgenefs  written  at  this  period,  indicates 
how  little  he  allowed  his  quarrel  with  Tolstoy  the  man,  to 
warp  his  appreciation  of  Tolstoy  the  artist.  Writing  to 
Fet  on  2nd  July  1871,  he  says : 

Your  letter  again  grieves  me — I  refer  to  what  you  write 
about  li.  Tolstoy.     I  have  great  fears  on  his  account,  for  two 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  339 

of  his  brothers  died  of  consumption^  and  I  am  very  glad  he  is 
taking  a  koum^s  cure,  in  the  reality  and  efficacy  of  which  I 
have  faith.  L.  Tolstoy  is  the  only  hope  of  our  orphaned  litera- 
ture; he  cannot  and  must  not  vanish  from  the  face  of  the  earth 
as  prematurely  as  his  predecessors  :  Poiishkinj  L6rmontof  and 
G6gol. 

Again  in  November,  writing  from  Paris,  he  says : 

I  am  very  glad  that  Tolstoy's  health  is  now  satisfactory  and 
that  he  is  at  work.  Whatever  he  does  Avill  be  good,  if  only  he 
does  not  himself  mutilate  his  own  handiwork.  Philosophy, 
which  he  hates,  has  revenged  herself  on  him  in  a  strange  way : 
she  has  infected  him,  and  the  enemy  of  rationalising  has 
plunged  head  over  ears  into  rationalisation !  But  perhaps  all 
that  has  fallen  away  from  him  by  now,  and  left  only  the  pure 
and  powerful  artist. 

On  returning  home  from  Samdra  improved  in  health, 
Tolstoy  turned  his  thoughts  once  more  to  matters  educa- 
tional :  especially  to  the  crying  want  of  good  primers  for 
those  beginning  to  read.  We  have  seen  how  strongly,  in 
1862,  he  had  felt  the  need  of  well-written  books  simple 
enough  for  beginners  and  peasant  readers,  and  how  he 
resented  the  monopolisation  of  knowledge  by  the  cultured 
classes  entrenched  behind  barriers  of  pedantry.  We  have 
seen,  too,  how  under  the  influence  of  Homer  he  swore  he 
would  no  more  write  '  wordy  rubbish ' ;  and  the  time  had 
now  come  for  this  feeling  to  bear  fruit.  The  task  to  which 
he  devoted  his  powers  at  their  zenith,  was  the  produc- 
tion of  an  ABC  Book  for  beginners,  which  was  to  be  as 
simple,  sincere  and  perfect  in  form  and  in  subject-matter 
as  possible. 

We  know  from  the  writings  of  the  American  Consul,  Mr. 
Eugene  Schuyler,  who  visited  Tolstoy  in  1868,  and  at  his 
request  obtained  for  him  a  collection  of  American  school 
primers,  that  Tolstoy  was  even  then  meditating  a  work  of 
the  kind  to  which  he  now  devoted  himself  ardently  for 
a  whole  year.  By  September  he  was  hard  at  work,  the 
Countess  as  usual  acting  as  his  amanuensis. 


340  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Of  her  we  hear  that  in  an  impulsive,  kindhearted  way,  she 
often  rendered  assistance  to  the  poor,  not  merely  among  the 
Yasnaya  Polydna  peasants,  but  to  others  from  a  distance  as 
well ;  and  that  the  neighbouring  peasants  thought  well  of 
her. 

The  increase  in  the  Tolstoy  family  was  met  this  year  by 
a  considerable  enlargement  of  their  domicile.  By  way  of  a 
house-warming  to  celebrate  the  completion  of  the  building, 
a  masquerade  was  arranged  at  Christmas,  at  which  Tolstoy 
evoked  great  enthusiasm  by  appearing  as  a  goat. 

About  this  time,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  Behrs  and  a  school 
friend  of  his  became  sorely  troubled  as  to  the  state  of  their 
souls,  and  thought  of  entering  a  monastery.  This  is  what 
he  tells  us  of  Tolstoy's  relation  to  the  matter : 

His  attitude  towards  ray  inclination  was  a  most  cautious  one. 
I  often  went  to  him  with  my  doubts  and  questions,  but  he 
always  managed  to  avoid  expressing  his  opinion,  knowing  how 
very  great  an  influence  it  would  have  with  me.  He  left  it  to 
me  to  work  out  my  own  convictions.  Once,  however,  he  spoke 
out  with  sufficient  plainness.  We  were  riding  past  the  village 
church  where  his  parents  lie  buried.  Two  horses  were  grazing 
in  the  churchyard.  We  had  been  talking  over  the  only  subject 
that  then  interested  me, 

'  How  can  a  man  live  in  peace,'  I  asked,  '  so  long  as  he  has 
not  solved  the  question  of  a  future  life  .'' ' 

'  You  see  those  two  horses  grazing  there,'  he  answered ;  *  are 
they  not  laying  up  for  a  future  life  .'' ' 

'  But  I  am  speaking  of  our  spiritual,  not  our  earthly  life.' 

'  Indeed .''  Well,  about  that,  I  neither  know  nor  can  know 
anything.' 

Immediately  after  New  Year  he  re-started  his  school ;  and 
the  children  (who  often  numbered  thirty  to  thirty-five)  met, 
not  as  formerly  in  another  building,  but  in  the  hall 
of  the  Tolstoys'  enlarged  house.  In  the  mornings  the 
Countess  taught  her  own  children,  and  in  the  afternoon  she, 
her  husband,  and  even  seven-year-old  Td^nya  and  eight-year- 
old  Sergius,  taught  the  peasant  children,  who  came  only 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  841 

then,  but  yet  made  satisfactory  progress,  being  stimulated 
by  the  personal  interest  the  Tolstoys  took  in  them,  by  the 
pedagogic  genius  of  the  Count,  and  by  a  perception  that 
education  is  a  rare  and  valuable  luxury,  which  seldom  comes 
within  the  reach  of  Russian  peasants. 

In  tlie  ABC  Book  Tolstoy  gives  several  autobiographical 
stories  of  how  he  learned  to  ride,  and  of  his  dogs  Milton 
and  Boulka,  Easy  as  these  are,  they  are  admirably  written, 
and  combine  brevity  and  simplicity  with  sincerity  ;  though 
their  sincerity  lies  not  in  telling  the  facts  just  as  they 
occurred,  but  in  the  trtfth  of  the  feeling  conveyed  to  the 
reader.  Besides  these  and  other  stories,  popular  historical 
sketches,  and  a  number  of  translations  and  adaptations 
from  Esop's  Fables  and  from  Indian,  Hebrew  and  Arabic 
sources,  the  work  contains  some  popular  ballads  or  folk- 
stories  in  verse.  To  get  these  poems  as  perfect  as  possible, 
he  studied  and  collated  all  the  versions  of  them  he  could 
collect. 

The  section  on  Arithmetic  gave  him  an  immense  amount 
of  work,  for  he  would  not  content  himself  with  the  usual 
explanations  of  the  various  operations,  but  devised  explana- 
tions of  his  own. 

The  book  contains  some  elementary  natural  science,  and 
for  the  preparation  of  this,  Tolstoy,  besides  examining  all 
sorts  of  text-books,  consulted  specialists  on  the  various 
subjects,  and  himself  carefully  performed  most  of  the 
experiments  he  described. 

To  select  the  readings  in  the  Church -Slavonic  language, 
he  perused  the  monkish  chronicles  and  the  Lives  of  the 
Saints. 

Intending  to  include  some  readings  on  astronomy,  he 
took  up  that  study  himself,  and  became  so  interested  in  it 
that  he  sometimes  sat  up  all  night  examining  the  stars. 

When  the  news  spread  that  Tolstoy  was  writing  stories 
for  his  ABC  Book,  the  magazine  editors  besieged  him  with 
demands,  and  the  first  bits  of  the  book  to  see  the  hght  were 
A  Prisoner  in  the  Caucasus^  which  appeared  in  one  of  the 


342  LEO  TOLSTOY 

monthlies  in  February,  and  God  Sees  the  Truth,  which  came 
out  in  another  monthly  in  March. 

Owing  to  some  mismanagement,  Tolstoy  received  nothing 
for  the  periodical  rights  of  either  of  these  stories,  which  in 
What  is  Art  ?  he  names  as  the  best  of  all  his  works.  They 
(as  well  as  The  Bear  Hunt,  also  from  the  ABC  Book)  are 
given  in  English  in  Twenty-three  Tales,  previously  referred 
to.  In  rendering  them,  I  did  my  best  to  retain  the  brief 
simplicity  of  the  originals ;  but  where  Russian  customs  were 
alluded  to,  some  of  that  simplicity  was  inevitably  lost. 

With  what  pleasure  Tolstoy  looks  back  to  this  part  of  his 
life's  work,  was  indicated  by  a  remark  he  made  to  me  in  1902. 
Speaking  of  the  popularity  of  A  Prisoner  in  the  Caucasus 
for  public  readings  to  the  peasants,  he  added  with  evident 
satisfaction,  that  when  A  Prisoner  in  the  Caucasus  is  now 
mentioned,  it  is  always  taken  for  granted  that  it  is  his  little 
story,  and  not  Poush kin's  famous  poem  of  the  same  name, 
that  is  referred  to. 

Since  their  first  appearance,  these  two  stories  have  sold 
by  hundreds  of  thousands  in  separate  editions  at  three  to 
ten  copecks  (about  a  penny  or  twopence)  each,  besides 
appearing  in  the  Readers  and  among  Tolstoy's  collected 
works. 

In  the  following  letter  to  Fet  we  get  a  vivid  glimpse  of 
the  thoughts  on  life's  deepest  problems,  which  were  before 
long  to  fill  Tolstoy's  mind  completely  . 

30  Jan.  1872. 

It  is  some  days  since  I  received  your  kind  but  sad  letter,  and 
not  till  to-day  do  I  settle  down  to  answer  it. 

It  is  a  sad  letter,  for  you  write  that  Tiitchef  is  dying,  and 
that  there  is  a  rumour  that  Tourgenef  is  dead  ;  and  about  your- 
self you  say  the  machine  is  wearing  out  and  you  want  quietly 
to  think  of  Nirvana.  Please  let  me  know  quickly  whether  this 
is  a  false  alarm,  I  hope  it  is,  and  that,  in  the  absence  of  Mdrya 
Petr6vna,  you  have  taken  slight  symptoms  for  a  return  of  your 
ten'ible  illness. 

In  Nirvana  there  is  nothing  to  laugh  at ;  still  less  is  there 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  843 

cause  for  anger.  We  all  (I,  at  least)  feel  that  it  is  much  more 
interesting  than  life  ;  but  I  agree  that  however  much  I  may 
think  about  it,  I  can  think  of  nothing  else  than  that  Nirvana  is 
nothingness.  I  only  stand  up  for  one  thing  :  religious  reverence 
— aweA>f  that  Nirvana. 

There  is,  at  any  rate,  nothing  more  important  than  it. 

What  do  I  mean  by  religious  reverence  ?  I  mean  this :  I 
lately  went  to  see  my  brother,  and  a  child  of  his  had  died  and 
was  being  buried.  The  priests  were  there,  and  a  small  pink 
coffin,  and  everything  as  it  should  be.  My  brother  and  I  in- 
voluntarily confessed  to  one  another  that  we  felt  something 
like  repulsion  towards  ceremonial  rites.  But  afterwards  I 
thought,  '  Well,  but  what  should  my  brother  do  to  remove  the 
putrefying  body  of  the  child  from  the  house  ?  How  is  one  to 
finish  the  matter  decently  } '  There  is  no  better  way  (at  least,  I 
could  devise  none)  than  to  do  it  with  a  requiem  and  incense. 
How  is  it  to  be  when  we  grow  weak  and  die  .''  Is  nature  to 
take  her  course,  are  we  to  .  .  .  and  nothing  else  ?  That  would 
not  be  well.  One  wishes  fully  to  express  the  gravity  and  im- 
portance, the  solemnity  and  religious  awe  of  that  occurrence, 
the  most  important  in  everj'  man's  life.  And  I  also  can  devise 
nothing  more  seemly  for  people  of  all  ages  and  all  degrees  of 
development,  than  a  religious  observance.  For  me  at  least 
those  Slavonic  words  evoke  quite  the  same  metaphysical  ecstasy 
as  one  experiences  Avhen  one  thinks  of  Nirvana.  Religion  is 
wonderful,  in  that  she  has  for  so  many  ages  rendered  to  so 
many  millions  of  people  these  same  services — the  greatest  any- 
thing human  can  render  in  this  matter.  With  such  a  task,  how 
can  she  be  logical }  Yes — there  is  something  in  her.  Only  to 
you  do  I  allow  myself  to  write  such  letters ;  but  I  wished  to 
write,  and  I  feel  sad,  especially  after  your  letter. 
Please  write  soon  about  your  health. — Your 

Leo  Tolstoy. 

I  am  terribly  dispirited.  The  work  I  have  begun  is  fearfully 
hard,  there  is  no  end  to  the  preparatoiy  study  necessary.  The 
plan  of  the  work  is  ever  increasing,  and  my  strength,  I  feel, 
grows  less  and  less.  One  day  I  am  well,  and  three  days  I 
am  ill. 


344  LEO  TOLSTOY 

The  work  here  referred  to  as  '  fearfully  hard '  was  a  study 
of  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great,  in  preparation  for  a  novel 
treating  of  that  period. 

On  20th  February  he  again  wrote  to  Fet : 

I  may  not  correspond  with  my  friends  for  years  at  a  time, 
but  when  my  friend  is  in  trouble,  it  is  terribly  shameful  and 
painful  not  to  know  of  it.  .  .  .  Now,  being  in  Moscow,  I 
wished  to  call  on  the  B6tkins  to  hear  about  you,  but  I  fell  ill 
myself,  took  to  my  bed,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  get  home. 
Now  I  am  better.  At  home  all  is  well ;  but  you  will  not 
recognise  our  house :  we  have  been  using  the  new  extension 
all  winter.  Another  novelty  is  that  I  have  again  started  a 
school.  My  wife  and  children  and  I  all  teach  and  are  all 
contented.     I   have  finished  ray  ABC  Book  and  am  printing 

1C«     •    •     « 

The  next  letter  shows  that  his  hope  that  he  had  finished 
the  ABC  Book  was  premature  : 

16  March  1872. 

How  I  wish  to  see  you ;  but  I  cannot  come,  I  am  still  ill. 
.  .  .  My  ABC  Book  gives  me  no  peace  for  any  other  occupa- 
tion. The  printing  advances  on  the  feet  of  a  tortoise,  and  the 
deuce  knows  when  it  will  be  finished,  and  I  am  still  adding  and 
omitting  and  altering.  What  will  come  of  it  I  know  not; 
but  I  have  put  my  whole  soul  into  it. 

In  May  1872  the  Countess  gave  birth  to  another  boy, 
who  was  christened  Peter. 

The  Moscow  firm  who  were  printing  the  book  for  Tolstoy 
were  not  able  to  give  him  satisfaction.  Not  only  was  the 
printing  a  matter  of  difficulty  owing  to  the  variety  of  type 
required  for  a  school-book  of  this  kind,  but  Tolstoy,  in 
accord  with  his  invariable  practice,  revised  the  work  time 
after  time  while  it  was  going  through  the  press.  At  last,  in 
May,  he  wrote  to  his  trusty  friend  and  admirer,  N.  Strdhof, 
saying  that  after  four  months"'  labour  the  printing  was 
*  not  only  not  finished,  but  had  not  even  begun,'  and  begging 
Strdhof  to  have  the  book  printed  in  Petersburg,  and  to  take 
on  himself  for  ample  payment  the  whole  task  of  revising  the 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  845 

proofs.  After  some  correspondence  matters  were  arranged, 
though  Strdhof  declined  to  accept  any  payment  for  the  help 
he  rendered. 

Tolstoy  explained  to  his  friend  that  he  wanted  to  make  a 
profit  on  the  book  if  possible.  As  a  rule,  all  Tolstoy''s  later 
teaching  seems  to  grow  out  of  his  experience  of  life ;  but 
it  would  be  hard  for  any  one  to  work  more  conscientiously 
than  Tolstoy  laboured  over  this  book,  and  yet  in  later  life 
he  speaks  as  though  any  admixture  of  mercenary  motives  is 
sure  to  be  fatal  to  good  literary  work.  We  here  seem,  there- 
fore, to  come  upon  an  exception  to  that  rule. 

Strahof  s  assistance  enabled  Tolstoy  (though  he  continued 
to  give  most  careful  instructions  with  regard  to  the  treat- 
ment of  the  various  sections  of  the  book)  to  get  a  much 
needed  change ;  and  after  having  as  usual  worked  during 
the  winter  and  spring  up  to  the  very  limit  of  his  strength, 
he  went  for  a  short  visit  to  his  Samara  estate,  where 
he  arranged  about  building,  and  about  breaking  up  the 
virgin  soil.  A  peasant  from  Ydsnaya  village  was  appointed 
steward  of  the  new  estate,  and  was  instructed  to  see  to  the 
building  of  the  house  there.  Being  far  away  from  home 
Tolstoy  was  anxious  about  his  ABC  Book ;  so  he  cut 
short  his  stay,  and  returned  to  Ydsnaya  before  the  end  of 
July.  There  he  learned  that  a  fine  young  bull  of  his  had 
gored  its  keeper  to  death.  The  unpleasantness  of  such  an 
occurrence  and  of  the  legal  investigation  consequent  on  the 
man's  death,  was  greatly  increased  by  the  fact  that  the 
Investigating  Magistrate,  an  incompetent  and  arrogant  young 
official,  wrongly  held  Tolstoy  responsible  for  '  careless  hold- 
ing of  cattle,'  and,  besides  commencing  criminal  proceedings 
against  him,  obliged  him  to  give  a  written  undertaking 
not  to  leave  Ydsnaya.  Prince  D.  D.  Obolensky  tells  how 
Tolstoy  arrived  one  day  at  a  meet  at  the  Prince's  estate  of 
Schahovskdy  (some  thirty  miles  from  Ydsnaya)  late  and 
much  upset,  and  told  of  an  examination  he  had  that  morn- 
ing undergone  at  the  hands  of  the  Investigating  Magistrate, 
whose  duties  included  those  of  Coroner.      '  Being  an  excit- 


346  LEO  TOLSTOY 

able  man,'  says  Obolensky, '  Tolstoy  was  extremely  indignant 
at  the  Magistrate's  conduct,  and  told  how  the  latter  had  kept 
a  Ydsno-Polydna  peasant  in  prison  for  a  year-and-a-half  on 
suspicion  of  having  stolen  a  cow,  which  then  turned  out  to 
have  been  stolen  by  some  one  else.  "  He  will  confine  me 
for  a  year,"  added  Tolstoy.  "  It  is  absurd,  and  shows  how 
utterly  arbitrary  these  gentlemen  are.  I  shall  sell  all  I 
have  in  Russia  and  go  to  England,  where  every  man's 
person  is  respected.  Here  every  police-officer,  if  one  does 
not  grovel  at  his  feet,  can  play  one  the  dirtiest  tricks  ! " ' 

P.  F.  Samarin,  who  had  also  come  to  the  hunt,  opposed 
Tolstoy  with  animation,  arguing  that  the  death  or  even 
the  mutilation  of  a  man,  was  so  serious  a  matter  that  it 
could  not  be  left  without  judicial  investigation.  After  long 
argument  Samarin  more  or  less  convinced  Tolstoy,  and  the 
latter  before  retiring  to  rest  remarked  to  Obolensky,  '  What 
a  wonderful  power  of  calming  people  Saradrin  has ! ' 

The  judicial  proceedings  dragged  on  for  more  than  a 
month,  and  it  was  not  till  late  in  September  that  Tolstoy 
was  again  free  to  take  a  journey  to  Moscow.  The  pro- 
ceedings, first  against  him  and  then  against  his  steward, 
were  abandoned  ;  but  not  before  the  newspapers  had  taken 
the  matter  up  and  made  a  fuss  about  it. 

At  last,  in  November,  the  ABC  Book  was  published.  It 
sold  slowly,  and  was  attacked  by  some  of  the  papers.  Tol- 
stoy however  was  not  discouraged,  but  held  to  his  belief  that 
(as  he  expressed  it  to  Str^hof)  he  had  '  erected  a  monument' 
— a  conviction  amply  justified  by  the  ultimate  success  of  the 
work.  He  had  indeed  produced  a  reading-book  far  superior 
to  anything  that  had  previously  existed  in  Russia,  and  that 
is  probably  unmatched  in  any  language.  With  certain 
modifications  to  be  mentioned  later  on,  it  continues  to 
circulate  throughout  Russia  to  the  present  day. 

In  connection  with  his  other  efforts  to  popularise  his 
system  of  instruction,  Tolstoy,  in  October  1872,  invited 
a  dozen  teachers  from  neighbouring  schools  to  visit  him  for 
a  week  at  Yasnaya.     They  were  accommodated  in  his  second 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  847 

house  (called,  as  is  customary  in  Russian  when  speaking 
of  a  subsidiary  residence,  '  the  wing "") ;  and  a  number  of 
illiterate  boys  were  collected  from  villages  within  reach, 
to  be  taught  on  Tolstoy's  lines.  He  also  formed  a  project 
of  establishing  a  'University  in  bark  shoes'  [the  country 
peasants  wear  bark  shoes]  or  in  other  words,  a  training  col- 
lege in  which  peasants  could  become  teachers  without  ceas- 
ing to  be  peasants.  This  plan  occupied  his  attention,  off 
and  on,  for  some  years ;  but  (owing  to  causes  which  will  be 
related  later)  never  came  to  fruition. 

In  December  Tourgenef  writes  from  Paris,  to  Fet : 

I  got  a  copy  of  L.  Tolstoy's  ABC,  but  except  the  beautiful 
story,  A  Prisoner  in  the  Caucasus,  I  did  not  find  anything  inter- 
esting in  it.  And  the  price  is  absurdly  dear  for  a  work  of 
that  kind. 

The  price  of  the  first  edition  of  3000  copies  of  the  ABC 
was  Rs.  2  (about  5s.  6d.).  Tourgenef  probably  had  no  idea 
of  the  immense  labour,  or  of  the  typographical  difficulties, 
involved  in  its  production.  The  subsequent  editions  were 
much  cheaper. 

About  this  time  Fet  sent  Tolstoy  a  letter  in  rhyme,  to 
which  the  latter  replied  as  follows  : 

12  November  1872. 

The  causeless  shame  felt  by  the  onion 

Before  the  sweetly-scented  rose. 
My  dearest  Fet,  I  should  be  feeling, 

Were  I  to  answer  you  in  prose. 

And  yet  in  maiden  verse  replying. 
By  sad  misgivings  I  'm  beset : 

The  when  and  where,  yourself  please  settle- 
But  come  and  visit  us,  dear  Fet. 

Tho'  drought  may  parch  the  rye  and  barley. 

Yet  still  I  shall  not  feel  upset 
If  I  but  spend  a  day  enjoying 

Your  conversation,  dearest  Fet ! 


848  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Too  apt  we  often  are  to  worry; 

O'er  future  ills  let  us  not  fret : 
Sufficient  for  the  day,  its  evil — 

It 's  best  to  think  so,  dearest  Fet ! 

Joking  apart,  Avrite  quickly  and  let  me  know  when  to  send 
horses  to  the  station  to  meet  you.     I  want  to  see  you  terribly. 

Having  at  last  got  his  ABC  off  his  hands,  Tolstoy  re- 
sumed his  preliminary  labours  for  a  large  novel,  which  was 
to  deal  with  the  period  of  Peter  the  Great.  On  19th  Nov- 
ember 1872  the  Countess  wrote  to  her  brother : 

Our  life  just  now  is  very,  very  serious.  All  day  we  are 
occupied.  Leo  sits  surrounded  by  a  pile  of  portraits,  pictures 
and  books,  engrossed  in  reading,  marking  passages  and  taking 
notes.  In  the  evening,  when  the  children  have  gone  to  bed, 
he  tells  me  his  plans,  and  what  he  means  to  write.  At  times 
he  is  quite  discouraged,  falls  into  despair,  and  thinks  nothing 
will  ever  come  of  it.  At  other  times  he  is  on  the  point  of 
setting  ardently  to  work  ;  but  as  yet  I  cannot  say  he  has  actually 
written  anything,  he  is  still  preparing. 

A  month  later  she  wrote : 

As  usual  we  are  all  of  us  very  busy.  The  winter  is  the  working 
time  for  us  proprietors,  just  as  much  as  summer  is  for  the 
peasants.  Leo  is  still  reading  historical  books  of  the  time  of 
Peter  the  Great,  and  is  much  interested  in  them.  He  notes 
down  the  characters  of  various  people,  their  traits,  as  well  as  the 
way  of  life  of  the  boyars  and  the  peasants,  and  Peter's  activity. 
He  does  not  yet  know  what  will  come  of  it  all,  but  it  seems 
to  me  we  shall  have  another  prose  poem  like  War  and  Peace ; 
but  of  the  time  of  Peter  the  Great. 

A  few  months  later  he  definitely  abandoned  the  project. 
His  opinion  of  Peter  the  Great  ran  directly  counter  to 
the  popular  one,  and  he  felt  out  of  sympathy  with  the  whole 
epoch.  He  declared  there  was  nothing  great  about 
the  personality  or  activity  of  Peter,  whose  qualities 
were  all  bad.  His  so-called  reforms,  far  from  aiming  at  the 
welfare  of  the  people,  aimed  simply  at  his  own  personal 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  349 

advantage.  He  founded  Petersburg  because  the  boyars, 
who  were  influential  and  consequently  dangerous  to  him, 
disapproved  of  the  changes  he  made,  and  because  he  wished 
to  be  free  to  follow  an  immoral  mode  of  life.  The  changes 
and  reforms  he  introduced  were  borrowed  from  Saxony, 
where  the  laws  were  most  cruel,  and  the  morals  most 
dissolute — all  of  which  particularly  pleased  him.  This, 
Tolstoy  holds,  explains  Peter's  friendship  with  the  Elector 
of  Saxony,  who  was  among  the  most  immoral  of  rulers. 
He  also  considers  that  Peter's  intimacy  with  the  pieman 
Menshikof  and  with  the  Swiss  deserter  Lefort,  is  ex- 
plained by  the  contempt  in  which  Peter  was  held  by 
all  the  boyars,  among  whom  he  could  not  find  men  willing 
to  share  his  dissolute  life.  Most  of  all,  Tolstoy  was 
revolted  by  the  murder  of  Peter"'s  son  Alexis,  in  which 
crime  Tolstoy's  own  ancestor  had  played  a  very  prominent 
part. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  the  abandonment  of  the  pro- 
ject to  which  he  had  devoted  so  much  time  and  attention, 
Tolstoy,  without  any  special  preparation,  began  to  write  his 
second  great  novel,  Anna  Karenina. 

The  year  before,  a  lady  named  Anna  who  lived  with 
Bibikof,  a  neighbouring  squire  mentioned  on  a  previous 
page,  had  committed  suicide  by  throwing  herself  under 
a  train,  out  of  jealousy  of  Bibikof 's  attentions  to  their 
governess.  Tolstoy  knew  all  the  details  of  the  affair,  and 
had  been  present  at  the  post-mortem.  This  supplied  him 
with  a  theme;  but  it  was  not  till  March  1873,  and  then  as 
it  were  by  accident,  that  he  actually  began  to  write  the 
book.  One  day  a  volume  of  Poushkin  happened  to  be  lying 
open  at  the  commencement  of  A  Fragment^  which  begins 
with  the  words,  'The  guests  had  arrived  at  the  country 
house.'  Tolstoy,  noticing  this,  remarked  to  those  present 
that  these  words,  plunging  at  once  into  the  midst  of  things, 
are  a  model  of  how  a  story  should  begin.  Some  one  then 
laughingly  suggested  that  he  should  begin  a  novel  in  that 
way ;  and  Tolstoy  at  once  started  on  Anna  Karenina,  the 


350  LEO  TOLSTOY 

second  sentence,  and  first  narrative  sentence,  of  which  is, 
'  All  was  in  confusion  in  the  Obldnskys"*  house.' 

In  May  Tolstoy  and  his  whole  family  went  for  a  three 
months''  visit  to  Samara,  where  he  had  recently  purchased 
some  more  land. 

This  summer  he  hired  a  Bashkir  named  Mouhamed  Shah, 
who  owned  and  brought  with  him  a  herd  of  milking  mares. 
This  Mouhamed  Shah,  or  Romanovitch  as  he  was  called  in 
Russian,  was  polite,  punctual,  and  dignified.  He  had  a 
workman  to  drive  the  herd,  and  a  wife  (who  retired  behind 
a  curtain  in  his  kotcMvlca  when  visitors  came  to  see  him)  to 
wait  upon  him.  In  subsequent  years  this  worthy  man 
repeatedly  resumed  his  engagement  with  the  Tolstoys. 

This  was  the  first  year  the  whole  estate  had  been  ploughed 
up  and  sown.  It  was  fortunate  for  the  district  that  some 
one  who  had  the  ear  of  the  public,  happened  to  be  there ; 
for  the  crops  in  the  whole  neighbourhood  failed  utterly,  and 
a  famine  ensued.  So  out-of-the-world  were  the  people  and 
so  cut  off  from  civilisation,  that  they  might  have  suffered 
and  died  without  the  rest  of  Russia  hearing  anything  about 
it,  had  not  Tolstoy  been  at  hand  to  make  their  plight  known 
in  good  time  by  an  appeal  for  help,  which  the  Countess 
prompted  him  to  draw  up,  and  which  appeared  on  17th 
August,  in  Katkdf  s  paper,  the  Moscow  Gazette. 

In  this  article  on  the  Samara  Famine,  Tolstoy  describes 
how  the  complete  failure  of  the  harvest,  following  as  it  did 
on  two  previous  poor  harvests,  had  brought  nearly  nine- 
tenths  of  the  population  to  destitution  and  hunger. 

To  ascertain  the  real  state  of  things  Tolstoy  took  an 
inventory  at  every  tenth  house  in  the  village  of  Gavrilovka 
— the  one  nearest  his  estate;  and  of  the  twenty-three 
families  so  examined,  all  but  one  were  found  to  be  in 
debt,  and  none  of  them  knew  how  they  were  to  get 
through  the  winter.  Most  of  the  men  had  left  home  to 
look  for  work,  but  the  harvest  being  bad  everywhere,  and 
so  many  people  being  in  search  of  work,  the  price  of  labour 
had  fallen  to  one-eighth  of  what  it  had  previously  been. 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  351 

Tolstoy  visited  several  villages  and  found  a  similar 
state  of  things  everywhere.  Together  with  his  article, 
he  sent  Rs.  100  (then  equal  to  about  £14<)  as  a  first  sub- 
scription to  a  Famine  Fund.  This  was  only  a  small  part 
of  what  he  spent  in  relief  of  the  impoverished  peasants, 
for  when  Prougavin  (well  known  for  his  valuable  descrip- 
tions of  Russian  sects)  visited  the  district  in  1881,  many 
of  the  inhabitants  spoke  to  him  of  Tolstoy's  personal 
kindness  to  the  afflicted,  and  of  his  gifts  of  corn  and  money 
during  the  famine. 

The  subscription  proved  a  success.  Tolstoy's  aunt,  the 
Countess  A.  A.  Tolstoy  (who  had  charge  of  the  education  of 
Marie  Alexandrovna,  subsequently  Duchess  of  Edinburgh), 
mentioned  the  matter  to  the  Empress,  who  was  one  of  the  first 
to  contribute.  Her  example  was  largely  followed,  and  alto- 
gether, in  money  and  in  kind,  something  like  Rs.  2,000,000, 
or  about  c^270,600,  was  contributed  during  1873-4.  Within 
a  year  or  two,  good  harvests  again  completely  changed  the 
whole  appearance  of  the  district. 

This  was  the  first,  but  neither  the  last  nor  the  worst,  of 
the  famines  in  which  Tolstoy  rendered  help. 

Before  the  end  of  August  1873  he  was  back  at  Yasnaya, 
and  wrote  to  Fet : 

On  the  22nd  we  arrived  safely  from  Samara.  ...  In  spite  of 
the  drought,  the  losses  and  the  inconvenience,  we  all,  even  my 
wife,  are  satisfied  with  our  visit,  and  yet  more  satisfied  to  be 
back  in  the  old  frame  of  our  life ;  and  we  are  now  taking  up 
our  respective  labours.  .  .  . 

A  month  later  he  writes  again,  referring  to  Kramskdy's 

portrait  of  himself,    a  photogravure  of  which    forms  the 

frontispiece  of  this  volume,  and  shows  the  blouse  which  even 

in  those  days,  before  his  Conversion,  he  wore  when  at  home, 

instead  of  a  tailor-made  coat : 

25  September  1873. 

I  am  beginning  to  write.  .  .  .  The  children  are  learning ;  my 
wife  is  busy  and  teaches.  Every  day  for  a  week  Kramskoy  has 
been  painting  my  portrait  for  Tretyakof  s  Gallery,  and  I  sit  and 


352  LEO  TOLSTOY 

chat  with  him,  and  try  to  convert  him  from  the  Petersburg 
faith  to  the  faith  of  the  baptized.  I  agreed  to  this,  because 
Kramskoy  came  personally,  and  oifered  to  paint  a  second 
portrait  for  us  very  cheaply,  and  because  my  wife  persuaded 
me. 

Up  to  this  time  Tolstoy,  sensitive  about  his  personal 
appearance,  and  instinctively  disliking  any  personal  adver- 
tisement, had  always  had  an  objection  to  having  his  portrait 
painted ;  and  if  he  ever  allowed  himself  to  be  photographed, 
was  careful  to  have  the  negative  destroyed  that  copies  might 
not  be  multiplied.  This  prejudice  he  abandoned  in  later 
life  ;  and  after  Kramskoy  had  broken  the  ice,  portraits  and 
photographs  of  Tolstoy  became  more  and  more  common. 

Kramskoy's  acquaintance  with  the  Tolstoys  came  about 
in  this  way.  He  was  commissioned  to  paint  a  portrait  of 
the  great  novelist,  for  the  collection  of  famous  Russians  in 
TretyakoFs  picture  gallery  in  Moscow ;  but  sought  in  vain 
in  that  town  for  his  photograph,  and  was  too  modest  to  ask 
Tolstoy  (who,  he  knew,  was  living  a  secluded  life  at  Yds- 
naya)  to  give  him  sittings.  He  therefore  hired  a  ddtcha, 
some  three  miles  from  Yasnaya,  with  the  intention  of 
painting  Tolstoy,  who  often  rode  past  on  horseback.  His 
intention,  however,  became  known,  and  the  Tolstoys  at 
once  sent  him  a  friendly  invitation  to  visit  them.  Of  the 
two  very  similar  portraits  of  Tolstoy  which  Kramskoy 
painted,  one  has  remained  at  Yasnaya. 

Before  Tolstoy's  next  letter  to  Fct,  the  angel  of  death 
had  crossed  the  threshold  of  his  house  for  the  first  time  in 
his  married  life.     On  11th  November  he  wrote  : 

We  are  in  trouble :  Peter,  our  youngest,  fell  ill  with  croup 
and  died  in  two  days.  It  is  the  first  death  in  our  family  in 
eleven  years,  and  my  wife  feels  it  very  deeply.  One  may 
console  oneself  by  saying  that  if  one  had  to  choose  one  of  our 
eight,  this  loss  is  lighter  than  any  other  would  have  been ;  but 
the  heart,  especially  the  mother's  heart — that  wonderful  and 
highest  manifestation  of  Divinity  on  earth — does  not  reason, 
and  my  wife  grieves. 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  353 

During  the  whole  of  1874  Tolstoy  made  strenuous  efforts 
to  get  his  system  of  education  more  generally  adopted.  On 
15th  January,  overcoming  his  dislike  of  speaking  in  _ 
public,  he  addressed  the  Moscow  Society  of  Literacy 
on  the  subject  of  the  best  way  to  teach  children  to  read. 
The  details  of  his  argument  need  not  here  detain  us,  as  it 
will  fall  to  the  lot  of  few  of  my  readers  to  teach  Russian 
children  to  read  Russian  ;  but  briefly,  the  German  Lautier- 
methode  had  been  adopted  by  Russian  pedagogues  in  a 
way  that  Tolstoy  considered  arbitrary  and  pedantic,  and  his 
appeal,  which  in  the  main  has  not  carried  conviction  to  the 
educationalists,  was  against  that  method. 

The  large  hall  in  which  the  meeting  took  place  was 
crowded.  The  President  of  the  Society,  Mr.  Shatilof, 
invited  Tolstoy  to  open  the  debate,  but  Tolstoy  preferred 
to  reply  to  what  questions  and  remarks  the  other  speakers 
might  put.  In  the  course  of  the  animated  proceedings, 
in  which  several  men  well  known  in  the  Russian  educa- 
tional world  took  part,  the  discussion  widened  out  till  it 
covered  the  question  of  the  whole  direction  of  elementary 
education ;  and  Tolstoy,  from  the  standpoint  of  his  belief 
that  it  is  harmful  to  force  upon  the  people  a  culture  they 
do  not  demand  and  are  not  prepared  for — and  much  of 
which,  though  considered  by  us  to  be  science,  may  yet  turn 
out  to  be  no  better  than  the  alchemy  and  astrology  of  the 
Middle  Ages — denounced  the  education  forced  upon  the 
children  in  elementary  schools,  and  declared  that  this  should 
be  confined  in  the  first  place  to  teaching  the  Russian  lan- 
guage and  arithmetic,  leaving  natural  science  and  history 
alone.  To  prove  the  advantage  of  his  way  of  teaching 
reading,  Tolstoy  offered  to  give  a  practical  demonstration 
in  one  of  the  schools  attached  to  some  of  the  Moscow  mills. 
Accordingly  it  was  arranged  that  this  should  take  place 
the  next  day  and  the  day  after,  at  the  mills  owned  by  Mr. 
Ganeshin,  on  the  Devitche  Poly e  just  outside  Moscow.  On 
the  morrow  Tolstoy  was  unwell,  and  did  not  appear ;  but  he 
gave  his  demonstration  on  the  evening  of  the  following  day, 

z 


354  LEO  TOLSTOY 

with  the  result  that,  on  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Shatilof,  the 
Society  of  Literacy  decided  to  start  two  temporary  schools 
for  the  express  purpose  of  testing  the  rival  methods  during 
a  period  of  seven  weeks.  The  one  school  was  taught  by 
Mr.  M.  E.  Protopdpof,  an  expert  in  the  Lautiermethode, 
while  in  the  other  school  Tolstoy''s  method  was  taught  by 
Mr.  P.  V.  Mordzof.  After  seven  weeks  the  children  were 
examined  by  a  Committee,  which  had  to  report  to  the 
Society  at  a  meeting  held  on  13th  April.  The  members  of 
the  Committee  however  could  not  agree,  and  handed  in 
separate  and  contradictory  reports.  At  the  meeting  of  the 
Society  there  was  again  a  great  divergence  of  opinion ;  and 
Tolstoy,  who  considered  that  the  test  had  not  been  made 
under  proper  conditions  (most  of  the  pupils  being  too  young, 
and  the  continual  presence  of  visitors  preventing  the  teacher 
from  holding  the  children"'s  attention),  but  that  nevertheless 
his  method  had  shown  its  superiority,  decided  to  appeal  to 
a  wider  public,  and  did  so  in  the  form  of  a  letter  addressed 
to  Mr.  Shatilof. 

A  full  account  of  what  happened  from  the  time  the 
dispute  passed  into  the  press,  has  been  given  by  that  power- 
ful and  popular  critic  and  essayest,  N.  K.  Mihayldvsky, 
who  was  at  this  time  a  colleague  of  Nekrasof.  In  1866  the 
Contemporary  had  been  prohibited,  as  a  punishment  for  its 
too  Liberal  tendencies.  In  1868  Nekrasof  and  Saltykdf 
(Stchedrin)  had  taken  over  the  management  of  the  Father- 
land Journal.  Tolstoy,  who  had  long  dropped  out  of  touch 
with  Nekrasof,  now  addressed  to  him  a  request  that  the 
Fatherland  Journal  should  take  a  hand  in  his  fight  with  the 
pedagogic  specialists,  and  should  interest  a  wider  public  in 
his  educational  reforms.  As  an  inducement,  he  held  out  a 
prospect  (never  fulfilled)  that  he  would  contribute  some  of 
his  works  of  fiction  to  their  magazine.  The  outcome  of  his 
correspondence  with  Nekrasof  was,  that  though  the  whole 
question  of  elementary  education  was  somewhat  foreign  to 
a  literary  magazine  such  as  the  Fatherland  Journal,  a  long 
article  by  Tolstoy  (his  letter  to  Shatilof)  appeared  in  the 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  855 

September  number,  under  the  title  of  On  the  Education  of 
the  People. 

Tolstoy's  educational  articles  in  1862,  when  he  issued 
them  in  his  own  magazine,  had  fallen  quite  flat  and 
attracted  no  attention,  but  this  article,  by  the  author  of 
War  and  Peace.)  in  a  leading  Petersburg  magazine,  though 
expressing  very  similar  views,  received  very  much  attention, 
and  was  criticised,  favourably  or  adversely,  in  a  large  number 
of  other  publications.  Though  his  views  were  only  adopted 
to  a  small  extent,  yet  the  severe  shock  which  he  administered 
to  the  professional  pedagogues  who  looked  on  school-chil- 
dren as  '  a  flock  existing  for  the  sake  of  its  shepherds,'  had 
a  most  healthy  influence,  and  that  it  did  not  pass  without 
some  immediate  practical  effect  is  indicated  by  the  rejection 
from  the  Moscow  Teachers''  Seminary  of  one  of  the  text- 
books Tolstoy  attacked  most  fiercely. 

Following  on  the  storm  raised  in  the  press  by  Tolstoy's 
article,  Mihayldvsky,  in  the  Fatherland  Journal  for  January 
1875,  published  a  long  article  entitled  An  Outsider'' s  Notes, 
in  which  he  took  Tolstoy's  part  against  the  pedagogues, 
and  said  :  '  Though  I  am  one  of  the  profane  in  philosophy 
and  pedagogics,  and  am  writing  simply  &  feuilleton,  I  never- 
theless advise  my  readers  to  peruse  ihis  feuilleton  with  great 
attention,  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  Tolstoy's,  and  for  the 
sake  of  those  fine  shades  of  thought  on  which  I  do  but 
comment.' 

Before  this,  however,  Tolstoy  had  made  another  attempt 
to  improve  the  state  of  elementary  education,  by  promoting 
the  establishment  of  that  '  University  in  bark  shoes '  to 
which  I  have  already  alluded. 

He  had  found  some  of  the  boys  in  the  Yasno-Polyana 
school  anxious  to  continue  their  studies  after  finishing  the 
school  course ;  and  an  experiment  in  teaching  these  lads 
algebra  had  been  highly  successful. 

In  his  last  article  on  Education,  Tolstoy  had  pointed  out 
that  a  great  obstacle  to  the  spread  of  efficient  elementary 
instruction   lay  in  the   fact   that  the   peasants   could   not 


356  LEO  TOLSTOY 

afford  the  salaries  (extremely  modest  as  these  sound  to 
Western  ears)  demanded  by  Russian  teachers  of  the  non- 
peasant  classes.  It  was  therefore  quite  natural  that  he 
should  now  devise  a  scheme  for  preparing  teachers  from 
among  the  peasants  themselves ;  and  he  drew  up  a  project 
for  a  training  college  to  be  established  at  Yasnaya,  under 
his  own  direction  and  control. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year  Tolstoy  paid  a  brief  visit  to 
his  Samdra  estate  to  look  after  its  management ;  and  he 
took  his  son  Sergius  with  him. 

On  20th  November  1874  the  Countess  wrote  to  her 
brother : 

Our  usual  serious  winter  work  is  now  in  full  swing.  Leo 
is  quite  taken  up  with  popular  education,  schools,  and  colleges 
for  teachers,  where  teachers  for  the  peasants'  schools  are  to  be 
trained.  All  this  keeps  him  busy  from  morning  till  night. 
I  have  ray  doubts  about  all  this.  I  am  sorry  his  strength  should 
be  spent  on  these  things  instead  of  on  writing  a  novel ;  and  I 
don't  know  in  how  far  it  will  be  of  use,  since  all  this  activity 
will  extend  only  to  one  small  corner  of  Russia. 

P.  F.  Samarin,  the  Marshal  of  the  Nobility  of  Toiila 
Government,  backed  Tolstoy  cordially,  and  pointed  out  that 
the  Zerastvo  (County  Council)  had  a  sum  of  Rs.  30,000 
available  for  educational  purposes,  and  that  this  might  be 
devoted  to  starting  a  teachers'  Training  College.  To  attain 
this  end  Tolstoy,  who  heretofore  had  always  refused  to 
stand  for  election,  consented  to  enter  the  Zemstvo,  and  after 
being  returned  to  that  body,  was  unanimously  chosen  to 
serve  on  its  Education  Committee. 

He  presented  a  report  in  the  sense  indicated  above,  which 
was  at  first  favourably  discussed ;  but  unfortunately  one  of 
the  oldest  members  rose,  and  alluding  to  the  fact  that  a 
collection  was  being  made  all  over  Russia  for  a  monument 
to  Catherine  the  Great,  and  that  it  was  the  centenary  of  the 
decree  by  which  she  had  created  the  Government  of  Toiila, 
proposed  that  the  money  should  be  devoted  to  the  monu- 
ment of  their  Benefactress.     This  loyal  sentiment  met  with 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  357 

approval,  and  though  Tolstoy  did  not  at  once  abandon  his 
plan,  the  means  to  carry  it  out  were  never  forthcoming,  and 
we  do  not  hear  much  more  of  it. 

If  one  did  not  know  how  stupidly  reactionary  the  govern- 
ing classes  of  Russia  were  at  this  period,  it  would  seem 
extraordinary  that  the  central  and  the  local  authorities 
alike  should  have  so  constantly  balked  and  hindered  Tolstoy's 
disinterested  projects :  forbidding  the  publication  of  his 
newspaper  for  soldiers,  mutilating  his  stories,  sending 
gendarmes  to  search  his  schools,  looking  askance  at  his 
school  magazine,  and  defeating  his  project  for  a  Training 
College.  Can  it  be  wondered  at,  that  he  came  more  and 
more  to  identify  Government  with  all  that  is  most  opposed 
to  enlightenment  ?  We  know  that  similar  causes  were,  at 
that  very  time,  driving  men  and  women  of  a  younger  gene- 
ration to  undertake  dangerous  propaganda  work,  in  more 
or  less  definite  opposition  to  the  existing  order  of  society, 
among  factory  workmen  and  country  peasants. 

His  devotion  to  educational  matters  did  not  entirely 
supersede,  though  no  doubt  it  delayed,  his  activity  as  a 
novelist.  In  the  spring  of  1874  he  had  taken  the  com- 
mencement of  Anna  Karenina  to  Moscow,  but  for  some 
reason  none  of  it  appeared  that  year. 

Tourgenef,  in  collaboration  with  Madame  Viardot,  was  at 
this  time  translating  some  of  Tolstoy ""s  best  stories  into 
French.     Writing  to  Fet  in  March  1874,  he  says  : 

The  season  is  now  almost  over,  but  all  the  same  I  will  try  to 
place  his  [Tolstoy's]  Three  Deaths  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes 
or  in  the  Temps,  and  in  autumn  I  will  without  fail  get  out 
The  Cossacks.  The  more  often  I  read  that  story,  the  more 
convinced  I  am  that  it  is  the  chef  d'ceuvre  of  Tolstoy  and  of  all 
Russian  narrative  literature. 

Meanwhile  life  and  death  pursued  their  course.  In  April 
a  son  was  born  and  christened  Nicholas;  and  before  long, 
death,  having  a  few  months  previously  taken  the  youngest, 
returned  to   claim  the  oldest  members  of  the  household. 


358  LEO  TOLSTOY 

The  first  of  them  to  go  was  his  dearly -loved  Aunty  Tatiana 
Alexandrovna,  to  whose  good  influence  through  life  he  owed 
so  much.  She  died  on  20th  June,  and  next  year  his  other 
aunt  followed  her. 

Tolstoy  never  refers  to  his  aunt  Tatiana  without  letting 
us  see  how  he  cherishes  her  memory.  Here  for  instance  are 
one  or  two  of  his  notes  relating  to  her : 

When  already  beginning  to  grow  feeble,  having  waited  her 
opportunity,  one  day  when  I  was  in  her  room  she  said  to  us, 
turning  away  (I  saw  that  she  was  ready  to  cry),  '  Look  here, 
mes  chers  amis,  my  room  is  a  good  one  and  you  will  want  it.  If 
I  die  in  it,'  and  her  voice  trembled,  '  the  recollection  will  be 
unpleasant  to  you ;  so  move  me  somewhere  else,  that  I  may 
not  die  here.'  Such  she  always  was,  from  my  earliest  child- 
hood, before  I  was  able  to  understand  her  goodness. 

Again  referring  to  her  death,  and  to  the  love  for  his 
father  which  had  played  so  large  a  part  in  her  life,  he  adds : 

She  died  peacefully,  gradually  falling  asleep ;  and  died  as 
she  desired,  not  in  the  room  that  had  been  hers,  lest  it  should 
be  spoilt  for  us. 

She  died  recognising  hardly  any  one.  But  me  she  always 
recognised,  smiling  and  brightening  up  as  an  electric  lamp  does 
when  one  touches  the  knob,  and  sometimes  she  moved  her  lips 
trying  to  pronounce  the  name  Nicholas  :  thus  in  death  com- 
pletely and  inseparably  uniting  me  with  him  she  had  loved  all 
her  life. 

The  opinion  the  peasants  had  of  her,  was  shown  by  the 
fact  that  when  her  coffin  was  carried  through  the  village, 
there  was  not  one  hut  out  of  the  sixty  in  Yasnaya  Poly^na, 
from  which  the  people  did  not  come  out  asking  to  have  the 
procession  stopped  and  a  requiem  sung  for  her  soul.  '  She 
was  a  kind  lady  and  did  nobody  any  harm,'  said  they. 
Tolstoy  adds : 

On  that  account  they  loved  her,  and  loved  her  very  much. 
Lao-Tsze  says  things  are  valuable  for  what  is  not  in  them.     So 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  359 

it  is  with  a  life.  It  is  most  valuable  if  there  is  nothing  bad  in 
it ;  and  in  the  life  of  Tatiana  Alexandrovna  there  was  nothing 
bad. 

Except  in  the  case  of  his  brother  Nicholas,  Tolstoy  has 
usually  not  been  greatly  upset  even  by  the  deaths  of  those 
near  and  dear  to  him.  The  following  letter  to  Fet  shows 
how  he  took  Tatiana's  death  : 

24  June  1874. 

Two  days  ago  we  buried  Aunt  Tatiana  Alexandrovna.  She 
died  slowly  and  gradually,  and  I  had  grown  accustomed  to  the 
process ;  yet  her  death  was,  as  the  death  of  a  near  and  dear 
one  always  is,  a  quite  new,  isolated  and  unexpectedly-stirring 
event.  The  others  are  well,  and  our  house  is  full.  The 
delightful  heat,  the  bathing  and  the  fruit  have  brought  me  to 
the  state  of  mental  laziness  I  love,  with  only  enough  mental 
life  remaining  to  enable  me  to  remember  my  friends  and  think 
of  them. 

The  next  letter,  dated  the  22nd  October,  tells  its  own  tale: 

Dear  Afanasy  Afanasyevitch, — I  have  planned  to  buy,  and 
must  buy,  some  land  at  Nikolsky,  and  for  that  purpose  must 
borrow  Rs.  10,000  for  one  year  on  mortgage.  It  may  be  that 
you  have  money  you  want  to  place.  If  so,  write  to  Ivan 
Ivanovitch  Orlof,  Nikolsky  village,  and  he  will  arrange  the 
affair  with  you  independently  of  our  relations  to  one  another. 
.  .  .  How  gladly  would  I  come  to  see  you,  were  I  not  so  over- 
whelmed with  the  school,  family  and  estate  business,  that  I 
have  not  even  time  to  go  out  shooting.  ...  I  hope  to  be  free 
when  winter  comes. 

A  small  second  edition  of  Tolstoy*'s  ABC  Book,  in  twelve 
paper-bound  parts,  was  printed  this  year ;  but  he  did  not 
yet  feel  quite  satisfied  with  that  work,  and  towards  the  close 
of  the  year  he  revised  it,  abbreviating,  omitting  the  arithmetic, 
and  introducing  graduated  reading  exercises.  As  soon  as 
the  pupil  has  mastered  a  few  of  the  most  necessary  letters 
and  can  put  these  together,  Tolstoy  contrives  out  of  the 
very  simplest  syllables  to  construct  sentences  that  have  a 


360  LEO  TOLSTOY 

meaning  and  an  interest.  The  Nexv  ABC  Book,  apart  from 
the  more  advanced  Readers,  and  consisting  of  ninety-two  pages 
of  elementary  matter,  was  issued  in  1875,  at  the  low 
price  of  14  copecks  (about  4d.).  Since  Tolstoy's 
efforts  have  seldom  been  favoured  by  the  Government,  it  is 
worth  noting  that  this  edition  was  '  Approved  and  recom- 
mended by  the  Scholarly  Committee  of  the  Ministry  of 
Popular  Education/  Between  one  and  two  million  copies 
of  it  have  since  been  sold.  The  reading  matter  from  his 
first  ABC  Book  was  subsequently  graded  into  four  cheap 
Readers  costing  3d.  to  4d.  each,  and  though  not  honoured 
by  the  Ministry  of  Education,  they  have  from  that  time  to 
this  circulated  in  increasing  quantities,  being  printed  of  late 
years  in  edition  after  edition  of  50,000  at  a  time. 

The  Countess  has  in  general  enjoyed  good  health  and 
worn  her  years  and  the  cares  of  her  large  family  very  lightly ; 
but  during  the  winter  of  1874-5  her  condition  gave  her 
husband  much  concern.  In  January  he  was  able  to  write 
to  Fet :  '  I  have  ceased  to  fear  for  my  wife's  health ' ;  but 
in  fact  for  some  time  longer  she  continued  to  be  ailing. 

The  commencement  of  Anna  Karenina,  appeared  in  the 
first  four  monthly  numbers  of  the  Russian  Messenger  for 
1875. 

By  far  the  best  English  version  of  that  novel  (as  also  of 
War  and  Peace)  is  Mrs.  Constance  Garnetfs,  though  I  do 
not  like  her  alteration  of  the  title  of  the  book  to  Anna 
Karenin,  nor  am  I  quite  satisfied  with  her  treatment  of 
some  of  the  conversations  in  it ;  but  unquestionably  we  have 
much  to  thank  her  for. 

In  February  the  baby,  Nicholas,  died  of  inflammation  of 
the  brain,  and  on  4th  March  1875  ^  Tolstoy  wrote  to  Fet : 

We  have  one  grief  after  another ;  you  and  Marya  Petrovna 
will  certainly  be  sorry  for  us,  especially  for  Sonya.  Our 
youngest  son,  ten  months  old,  fell  ill   three  weeks  ago  with 

^  This  letter  evidently  relates  to  the  year  1875,  though  in  Fet's  Vospomin- 
iniya  it  is  given  as  belonging  to  1874. 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  361 

the  dreadful  illness  called  '  water  on  the  brain,'  and  after  three 
weeks'  terrible  torture  died  three  days  ago,  and  we  have  buried 
him  to-day.  I  feel  it  hard  through  my  wife ;  but  for  her,  who 
was  nursing  him  herself,  it  is  very  hard. 

In  the  same  letter  he  mentions  Anna  Karenina,  and  im- 
mediately afterwards  he  makes  an  allusion  to  the  first  idea 
of  his  Confession,  which  was  not  actually  written  till  1879 : 

It  pleases  me  very  much  that  you  praise  Karenina  and  I  hear 
that  she  gets  praised ;  but  assuredly  never  was  writer  so  in- 
different to  his  success  as  I  am  ! 

On  the  one  hand  what  preoccupies  me  are  the  school  affairs, 
and  on  the  other,  strange  to  say,  the  subject  of  a  new  work, 
which  took  possession  of  me  just  at  the  worst  time  of  the  boy's 
illness, — and  that  illness  itself  and  death.  .  .  . 

From  Tourgenef  I  have  received  the  translation,  printed  in 
the  Temps,  of  my  Two  Hussars,  and  a  letter  written  in  the 
third  person  asking  to  be  informed  that  I  have  received  it,  and 
saying  that  other  stories  are  being  translated  by  Madame  Viardot 
and  Tourgenef, — both  of  which  were  unnecessary.  [Tolstoy 
means  that  they  need  neither  have  sent  him  the  translation, 
nor  informed  him  of  what  they  were  doing.] 

The  commencement  of  Anna  Karinina  did  not  find  favour 
with  Tourgenef,  who  on  14th  March  wrote  from  Paris  to 
A.  S.  Souvdrin,  the  novelist  and  proprietor  of  the  Novoye 
Vremya  {New  Times) : 

His  [Tolstoy's]  talent  is  quite  extraordinary,  but  in  Anna 
Karenina  he,  as  one  says  here,  a  faitfausse  route;  one  feels  the 
influence  of  Moscow,  Slavophil  nobility,  Orthodox  old  maids, 
his  own  isolation,  and  the  absence  of  real  artistic  freedom. 
Part  II  is  simply  dull  and  shallow — that's  what's  the  matter. 

And  writing  in  similar  strains  to  Poldnsky  the  poet, 
Tourgenef  said : 

Anna  Karenina  does  not  please  me,  though  there  are  some 
truly  splendid  pages  (the  steeplechase,  the  mowing,  and  the 
hunt).  But  it  is  all  sour :  smells  of  Moscow,  holy  oil, 
old  maidishness,  Slavophilism,  and  the  aristocracy,  etc. 


362  LEO  TOLSTOY 

The  cordiality  of  Tourgenef's  appreciation  of  Tolstoy's 
writings  in  general,  is  sufficient  guarantee  that  it  was  no 
personal  prejudice  that  led  him  to  speak  in  this  way  of  a 
book  which  is  one  of  Tolstoy''s  three  most  important  novels, 
and  which  many  people  hold  to  be  the  best  of  them  all. 
What  really  caused  his  harsh  judgment,  is  a  matter  I  will 
deal  with  later  on. 

This  summer  the  whole  Tolstoy  family  went  to  the 
Samdra  estates,  which  had  already  been  considerably  in- 
creased by  the  last  purchase,  and  which  ultimately  exceeded 
16,000  acres.  Mouhamed  Shah  with  his  herd  of  mares  and 
his  kotchevJca — which  Tolstoy  called  '  our  saloon ' — again 
appeared  on  the  scene.  A  second  hotchevka  was  set  up 
for  the  use  of  the  Tolstoys  themselves,  and  was  so  much  in 
favour  that  all  the  members  of  the  family  were  eager  to 
occupy  it. 

The  novelty  and  the  peculiarities  of  steppe  farming 
interested  Tolstoy,  and  he,  as  well  as  other  members  of  his 
household,  took  an  active  part  in  harvesting  and  winnowing. 
How  primitive  were  the  Samara  methods  of  agriculture  may 
be  shown  by  mentioning  their  manner  of  threshing.  A  ring 
of  horses  was  formed,  tied  head  to  tail.  In  the  centre  of 
the  ring  stood  a  driver  with  a  long  lash,  and  the  horses 
were  set  trotting  round  a  corresponding  circle  of  sheaves,  out 
of  which  they  trod  the  grain. 

The  virgin  soil  was  ploughed  up  by  five  or  even  six  pair 
of  oxen,  wearing  round  their  necks  deep-toned  bells,  sound- 
ing in  a  minor  key.  These  things,  together  with  the  pipes 
of  the  boys  who  watched  the  herds,  the  sultry  days,  and  the 
marvellously  clear  moonlit  nights,  had  a  wonderful  charm 
for  the  whole  party,  and  this  charm  was  increased  by  Tol- 
stoy's capacity  to  notice  and  direct  attention  to  whatever 
was  interesting  or  beautiful. 

The  whole  family  became  interested,  Behrs  tells  us,  in 
their  new  farming,  and  some  of  them  went  with  Tolstoy 
as  far  afield  as  Orenbourg  to  purchase  cattle  and  horses. 

He  bought  about  a  hundred  Bashkir  mares  and  crossed 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  363 

them  with  an  English  trotter  and  with  horses  of  other  breeds, 
hoping  to  obtain  a  good  new  type. 

One  evening  his  whole  herd,  and  Mouhamed  Shah's  as 
well,  were  very  nearly  driven  off  by  some  Kirghiz  nomads 
who  were  passing.  The  invaders  were,  however,  pursued 
and  driven  off  by  two  mounted  Bashkir  labourers. 

Tolstoy  declared  farming  in  Samara  to  be  a  game  of 
chance.  It  cost  nearly  three  times  as  much  to  plough  up 
the  land,  sow  it,  and  gather  in  a  harvest,  as  it  did  to  pur- 
chase the  freehold  of  the  estate;  and  if  during  May  and 
June  there  was  not  at  least  one  good  fall  of  rain,  every- 
thing perished ;  whereas  if  it  rained  several  times,  the 
harvest  yielded  thirty  to  forty-fold. 

One  day,  at  harvest  time,  a  poor  wandering  Tartar,  draw- 
ing two  little  children  in  a  tiny  cart,  came  up  to  the  balcony 
on  which  the  Tolstoys  were  sitting,  and  asked  to  be  hired 
as  a  labourer.  He  was  allowed  to  set  up  his  wigwam  in  a 
field  close  by,  and  the  Tolstoy  children  used  to  go  there 
every  day  to  feed  the  little  Tartars. 

In  the  neighbouring  village  lived  several  well-to-do 
Russian  peasants  with  whom  Tolstoy  was  on  very  good 
terms.  Either  because  they  were  economically  independent 
and  lived  in  a  province  where  serfdom  had  not  prevailed, 
or  as  a  result  of  Tolstoy's  tact  and  ability  to  set  people 
at  their  ease,  these  peasants  always  behaved  with  dignity 
and  self-respect.  They  shook  hands  when  they  said  '  How 
do  you  do  ? '  and  seemed  quite  at  home  with  the  Count. 

He  used  to  notice  with  pleasure  the  good  relations  and 
complete  religious  toleration  that  existed  in  those  parts 
between  the  Orthodox  peasants  and  their  Mohammedan 
neighbours ;  and  he  was  also  delighted  that  the  priest  at 
Patrovka  was  on  friendly  terms  with  the  Molokans  he  was 
trying  to  convert. 

One  rainy  night,  after  staying  late  at  this  priest's  house, 
Tolstoy  and  his  brother-in-law  completely  lost  their  way. 
It  was  so  dark  that  they  could  not  see  their  horses'  heads. 
Behrs  was  riding  an  old  working  horse,  which  kept  pulling 


364  LEO  TOLSTOY 

to  the  left.  Tolstoy,  on  hearing  this,  told  him  to  let  the 
horse  follow  its  bent.  Behrs  therefore  tied  his  reins  so 
that  they  hung  loose,  and  wrapping  himself  in  his  cloak 
from  the  drenching  rain,  allowed  the  horse  to  go  where 
it  liked.  Carefully  avoiding  the  ploughed  land,  it  soon 
brought  them  out  on  to  the  road,  and,  curiously  enough,  to 
just  the  one  part  of  it  which  was  distinguishable  from  the 
extraordinary  sameness  of  the  rest,  so  that  the  riders  knew 
just  where  they  were. 

The  most  striking  event  of  this  year''s  stay  in  Samara  was 
a  horse  race,  arranged  by  Tolstoy.  Mouhamed  Shah  was 
authorised  to  announce  to  the  peasants  and  neighbours  that 
races  would  be  held  on  the  Count's  estate ;  and  invitations 
were  sent  to  all  likely  to  take  part.  Bashkirs  and  Kirghiz 
assembled,  bringing  with  them  tents,  portable  copper  boilers, 
plenty  of  koumys,  and  even  sheep.  Oural  Cossacks  and 
Russian  peasants  also  came  from  the  whole  surrounding 
neighbourhood.     In  preparation  for  the  race,  says  Behrs  : 

We  ourselves  chose  a  level  place,  measured  out  a  huge  circle 
three  miles  in  circumference,  marked  it  by  running  a  plough 
round,  and  set  up  posts.  Sheep  and  even  one  horse  were 
prepared  with  which  to  regale  visitors.  By  the  appointed  day 
some  thousands  of  people  had  collected.  On  the  wild  steppe, 
covered  with  feather  grass,  a  row  of  tents  appeared,  and  soon 
a  motley  crowd  enlivened  it.  On  the  conical  hillocks  (locally 
called  'cones')  felt  and  other  carpets  were  spread,  on  which 
the  Bashkirs  sat  in  circles,  their  legs  tucked  under  them.  In 
the  centre  of  the  circle,  out  of  a  large  toursouk  [a  leather  bottle 
made  of  an  animal's  leg]  a  young  Bashkir  poured  koumys, 
handing  the  cup  to  each  of  the  company  in  turn.  Their  songs, 
and  the  tunes  played  on  their  pipes  and  reeds,  sounded  some- 
what dreary  to  a  European  ear.  Wrestling,  at  which  the 
Bashkirs  are  particularly  skilful,  could  be  seen  here  and  there. 
Thirty  trained  horses  were  entered  for  the  chief  race.  The 
riders  were  boys  of  about  ten  years,  who  rode  without  saddles. 

This  race  was  for  thirty-three  miles,  and  it  took  exactly 
an  hour  and  forty  minutes ;  consequently  it  was  run  at  the 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  365 

rate  of  three  minutes  a  mile.  Of  the  thirty  horses,  ten  ran 
the  whole  distance,  the  others  giving  up.  The  principal 
prizes  were  a  horse,  an  ox,  a  gun,  a  clock,  and  a  dressing- 
gown.  The  festival  lasted  two  days,  and  passed  off  in 
perfect  order  and  very  gaily.  To  Tolstoy's  delight  no 
police  were  present.  The  guests  all  politely  thanked  their 
host  and  departed  highly  satisfied.  *Even  in  the  crowd,' 
says  Behrs,  '  it  seemed  to  me  that  Leo  Nikolayevitch 
knew  how  to  evoke  entrain  combined  with  respect  for  good 
order.' 

Tolstoy  visited  the  Petrdvsky  Fair,  as  was  his  yearly 
custom,  and  stayed  at  the  Bouzoulouk  Monastery,  where  a 
hermit  resided  who  was  '  saving  his  soul '  by  a  solitary  and 
ascetic  life.  This  man  lived  in  an  underground  catacomb. 
When  he  came  out  he  walked  about  the  garden  and  showed 
his  visitors  an  apple-tree  he  had  planted  forty  years  before, 
under  which  it  was  his  custom  to  sit  when  receiving  pilgrims. 
He  spoke  to  Tolstoy  about  the  Scriptures,  and  showed  him 
his  catacomb-home,  the  coffin  in  which  he  slept,  and  the 
large  crucifix  before  which  he  prayed. 

Tolstoy  considered  that  the  respect  paid  to  this  man  by 
pilgrims  and  other  visitors,  was  the  outcome  of  genuine 
religious  feeling,  and  proved  that  the  hermit,  by  giving  the 
example  of  a  pure,  unworldly  life,  supplied  a  real  want. 

Readers  of  Tolstoy's  short  stories  will  be  aware  of  the  use 
to  which  he  subsequently  put  his  knowledge  of  the  Bashkirs 
and  of  the  hermit. 

On  26th  August,  after  reaching  Yasnaya,  he  wrote  to  Fet : 

Two  days  ago  we  arrived  home  safely.  .  .  . 

We  have  had  an  average  harvest,  but  the  price  of  labour  has 
been  enormous,  so  that  finally  ends  only  just  meet.  For  two 
months  I  have  not  soiled  my  hands  with  ink  nor  my  heart 
with  thoughts.  Now  I  am  settling  down  again  to  dull,  common- 
place Anna  Karenina  with  the  sole  desire  to  clear  a  space 
quickly,  and  obtain  leisure  for  other  occupations — only  not  for 
the  educational  work  I  love  but  wish  to  abandon.  It  takes  too 
much  time. 


366  LEO  TOLSTOY 

His  Samara  experiences  confirmed  in  him  the  feeling  that 
not  the  civilisation  and  progress  and  political  struggles  of 
the  Western  world  and  of  the  small  Westernised  section  of 
Russians,  were  really  important,  but  the  great  primitive 
struggle  of  plain  people  to  obtain  a  subsistence  in  healthy 
natural  conditions ;  and  he  adds  in  the  same  letter : 

Why  fate  took  me  there  [to  Samara]  I  do  not  know ;  but  I 
know  that  I  have  listened  to  speeches  in  the  English  Parlia- 
ment, which  is  considered  very  important,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
dull  and  insignificant;  but  there,  are  flies,  dirt,  and  Bashkir 
peasants,  and  I,  watching  them  with  intense  respect  and 
anxiety,  became  absorbed  in  listening  to  them  and  watching 
them,  and  felt  it  all  to  be  very  important. 

One  must  live  as  we  lived,  in  a  healthy  out-of-the-way  part 
of  Samara,  and  see  the  struggle  going  on  before  one's  eyes  of 
the  nomadic  life  (of  millions  of  people  on  an  immense  territory) 
with  the  primitive  agricultural  life,  in  order  to  realise  all  the 
importance  of  that  struggle. 

After  their  return  from  the  Government  of  Samdra,  all 
the  children  got  hooping-cough.  The  Countess  caught  it 
from  them,  and,  being  in  the  sixth  month  of  pregnancy,  was 
very  ill.  This  resulted  in  the  premature  birth  of  a  girl, 
Varvara,  who  lived  less  than  two  hours. 

Tolstoy's  eldest  son,  Sergius,  had  now  reached  the  age  of 
twelve.  Besides  their  English  governess  and  a  Swiss  lady,  the 
children  had  at  different  times  a  Swiss,  a  Frenchman,  and 
a  German  as  tutors  for  modern  languages.  Tutors  and 
students  who  acted  as  tutors,  also  lodged  at  Yasnaya  and 
taught  other  subjects.  A  music  master  came  over  from 
Toula.  The  eldest  boy  had  considerable  musical  talent, 
and  the  family  as  a  whole  were  musical.  As  soon  as  they 
had  mastered  their  finger  exercises,  the  Count  insisted  on 
their  at  once  being  allowed  to  learn  serious  pieces. 

Every  effort  was  made  to  awaken  and  foster  the  talent 
for  drawing  and  painting  which  some  of  the  children,  and 
especially  the  eldest  daughter,  Tatiana,  possessed  ;  but  lessons 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  367 

in  these  subjects  were  only  given  to  those  who  showed  real 
capacity  for  them. 

Much  as  Tolstoy  disliked  the  curriculum  of  the  Grammar 
Schools  ('Gymnasiums,'' as  they  are  called  in  Russia),  he  did, 
not  wish  to  make  it  impossible  for  his  sons  to  enter  the 
University,  and  they  followed  the  usual  classical  course. 
Sergius  passed  his  examinations  each  year  in  Toiila 
Gymnasium,  being  carefully  coached  at  home. 

In  his  Recollections  Behrs  tells  us  of  Tolstoy''s  enlivening 
influence  in  the  family : 

I  cannot  sufficiently  describe  the  joyous  and  happy  frame 
of  mind  that  usually  reigned  at  Yasnaya  Polyana.  Its  source 
was  always  Leo  Nikolayevitch,  In  conversation  about  abstract 
<  questions,  about  the  education  of  children,  about  outside 
matters — his  opinion  was  always  most  interesting.  When  play- 
ing croquet,  or  during  our  walks,  he  enlivened  us  all  by  his 
humour  and  his  participation,  taking  a  real  part  in  the  game 
or  the  walk. 

With  me,  he  liked  to  mow,  or  use  the  rake;  to  do  gym- 
nastics, to  race,  and  occasionally  to  play  leap-frog  or  gorodki  [a 
game  in  which  a  stick  is  thrown  at  some  other  shorter  sticks 
placed  in  a  pattern],  etc.  Though  far  inferior  to  him  in  strength, 
for  he  could  lift  180  lbs.  with  one  hand,  I  could  easily  match 
him  in  a  race,  but  seldom  passed  him,  for  I  was  always  laughing. 
That  mood  accompanied  all  our  exercises.  Whenever  we 
happened  to  pass  where  mowers  were  at  work,  he  would  go  up 
to  them  and  borrow  a  scythe  from  the  one  who  seemed  most 
tired.  I  of  course  imitated  his  example.  He  would  then  ask 
me,  Why  we,  with  well-developed  muscles,  cannot  mow  six 
days  on  end,  though  a  peasant  does  it  on  rye-bread,  and 
sleeping  on  damp  earth.''  'You  just  try  to  do  it  under  such 
conditions,'  he  would  add  in  conclusion.  W^hen  leaving  the 
meadow,  he  would  take  a  handful  of  hay  from  the  haycock  and 
sniff  it,  keenly  enjoying  its  smell. 

Children  and  grown-ups  alike  played  croquet  at  Yasnaya. 
The  game  generally  began  after  dinner  in  the  evening,  and 
only  finished  by  candlelight.  Bchrs  says  that,  having 
played  it  with  Tolstoy,  he  considers  croquet  to  be  a  game  of 


368  LEO  TOLSTOY 

chance.  Tolstoy's  commendation  of  a  good  shot  always 
pleased  the  player  and  aroused  the  emulation  of  his  oppo- 
nents. The  kindly  irony  of  his  comments  on  a  miss,  also 
acted  as  a  spur.  A  simple  word  from  him,  uttered  just 
at  the  right  moment  and  in  the  right  tone,  produced  that 
entrain  which  makes  any  occupation  interesting  and  infects 
all  who  come  under  its  influence. 

The  sincerity  of  Tolstoy's  nature  showed  itself  in  the 
frank  expression  of  his  passing  mood.  If,  when  driving  to 
the  station,  he  saw  that  they  had  missed  the  train,  he  would 
exclaim,  '  Ach  !  we  've  missed  it ! '  with  such  intensity  that 
every  one  within  earshot  would  first  feel  as  though  a  calamity 
had  occurred,  and  would  then  join  in  the  hearty  laughter 
which  his  own  vehement  exclamation  evoked  in  Tolstoy. 
It  was  the  same  when  he  made  a  bad  miss  at  croquet ;  and 
also  if,  when  sitting  at  home,  he  suddenly  remembered  some 
engagement  he  had  forgotten  to  keep.  If,  as  sometimes 
happened,  his  exclamation  alarmed  his  wife,  he  would  half- 
jokingly  add,  like  a  scolded  child,  '  I  '11  never  do  it  again  ! ' 

His  laughter,  which  began  on  a  high  note,  had  something 
wonderfully  infectious  about  it.  His  head  would  hang  over 
on  one  side,  and  his  whole  body  would  shake. 

His  good-natured  irony  constantly  acted  as  a  stimulant  to 
those  about  him.  If,  for  instance,  some  one  was  in  the 
dumps  about  the  weather,  Tolstoy  would  say :  '  Is  your 
weather  behaving  badly  ? '  Or  when  Behrs  was  sitting 
comfortably  listening  to  a  conversation,  he  would  say  to 
him :  *  As  you  are  on  the  move,  you  might  please  bring 
me  so-and-so.' 

When  he  felt  it  wise  to  reject  an  extra  cigar  or  a  second 
helping  of  some  favourite  dish,  he  would  remark  to  those 
present :  '  Wait  till  I  am  grown  up,  and  then  I  will  have 
two  helpings,'  or  '  two  cigars,'  as  the  case  might  be. 

If,  says  Behrs,  *  he  noticed  any  of  the  children  making  a 
wry  or  affected  face,  he  generally  called  out,  "  Now  then,  no 
grimacing ;  you  '11  only  spoil  your  phiz." ' 

Behrs  also  tells  us  that . 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  869 

What  he  called  '  the  Numidian  cavalry '  evoked  our  noisiest 
applause.  He  would  unexpectedly  spring  up  from  his  place 
andj  raising  one  arm  in  the  air  with  its  hand  hanging  quite  loose 
from  the  wrist,  he  would  run  lightly  through  the  rooms.  All 
the  children,  and  sometimes  the  grown-ups  also,  would  follow 
his  example  with  the  same  suddenness. 

Tolstoy  read  aloud  very  well,  and  would  often  read  to 
the  family  or  to  visitors. 

His  contempt  for  doctors  and  medicine  is  plainly  indi- 
cated both  in  War  and  Peace  and  Anna  Karenina.  Like 
Rousseau  he  considered  that  the  practice  of  medicine  should 
be  general  and  not  confined  to  one  profession ;  and  this 
opinion  inclined  him  to  approve  of  the  folk-remedies  used 
by  the  peasants.  But  he  did  not  go  the  length  of  refusing 
to  call  in  a  doctor  when  one  of  the  family  was  seriously  ill. 

Before  the  year  closed,  Tolstoy"'s  aunt,  Pelageya  llynishna 
"d^shkof,  with  whom  he  had  lived  in  his  young  days  in  Kazan, 
also  passed  away.  She  had  been  separated  from  her  husband 
before  his  death  in  1869,  and  had  long  not  even  seen  him, 
though  they  remained  quite  friendly  towards  one  another. 
She  was  very  religious  in  an  Orthodox  Church  way,  and  after 
her  husband's  death  retired  to  the  Optin  nunnery.  Subse- 
quently she  moved  to  the  Toula  nunnery,  but  arranged  to 
spend  much  of  her  time  at  Yasnaya ;  where  in  her  eightieth 
year  she  fell  ill  and  died.  She  was  in  general  a  good- 
tempered  though  not  clever  woman,  and  all  her  life  long 
strictly  observed  the  ceremonies  of  the  Church  and  thought 
that  she  firmly  believed  its  teaching  about  redemption  and 
resurrection ;  yet  she  was  so  afraid  of  death  that  on  her 
death-bed  she  was  reluctant  to  receive  the  eucharist,  because 
it  brought  home  to  her  mind  the  fact  that  she  was  dying ; 
and  as  a  consequence  of  the  sufferings  caused  by  the  fear 
of  death,  she  became  irritable  with  all  about  her. 

A  servant  who  lived  in  the  house  at  the  time,  tells  that 
while  at  Yasnaya  she  used,  on  the  first  of  each  month,  to 
send  for  a  priest.  As  soon  as  he  arrived,  and  began  the 
usual  ceremony  of  blessing  with  holy  water,  Tolstoy  would 

9.   A 


370  LEO  TOLSTOY 

escape  and  hide  himself.  Not  till  the  gardener,  Semydn — 
whom  he  used  to  send  into  the  conservatory  to  reconnoitre 
— brought  him  word  that  the  priest  had  gone,  would 
Tolstoy  reappear  in  the  house. 

About  that  time,  however,  his  attitude  towards  Church 
ceremonies  altered.  His  man-servant  Sergey  Arbouzof  (who 
saw  only  the  external  signs  of  the  complex  inner  struggle 
going  on  in  Tolstoy)  tells  us  : 

Suddenly  a  wonderful  change  came  over  him,  of  which  I  was 
a  witness.  In  1875  a  priest,  Vasily  Ivanovitch,  from  the  Toiila 
Seminary,  used  to  come  to  teach  theology  to  Tolstoy's  children. 
At  first,  Leo  Nikolayevitch  hardly  ever  talked  to  him,  but  it 
once  happened  that  a  snow-storm  obliged  Vasily  Ivanovitch  to 
stop  the  night  at  our  house.  The  Count  began  a  conversation 
with  him,  and  they  did  not  go  to  bed  till  daylight.  They  talked 
the  whole  night. 

From  that  day  Leo  Nikolayevitch  became  very  thoughtful, 
and  always  talked  with  Vasily  Ivanovitch.  When  Lent  came 
round,  the  Count  got  up  one  morning  and  said,  '  I  am  going  to 
do  my  devotions,  and  prepare  to  receive  communion.  You  can 
go  back  to  bed,  but  first  tell  the  coachman  not  to  get  up. 
I  will  saddle  Kalm;^k  (his  favourite  horse  at  that  time)  myself. 
Forgive  me,  Sergey,  if  I  have  ever  offended  you ! '  and  he  went 
off  to  church. 

From  that  day  for  a  couple  of  years  he  always  went  to  church, 
seldom  missing  a  Sunday.  The  whole  village  was  surprised, 
and  asked,  '  What  has  the  priest  told  the  Count,  that  has 
suddenly  made  him  so  fond  of  church-going  ? ' 

It  used  to  happen  that  the  Count  would  come  into  my  hut 
when  I  was  teaching  my  little  boy  religion. 

'  What  are  you  teaching  him .'' '  he  would  ask. 

And  I  used  to  say,  '  To  pray.' 

*  Ah  ! '  said  he,  '  that  is  right.  A  man  who  does  not  pray  to 
God  is  not  a  real  man.' 

The  publication  of  Anna  Karenina  was  renewed  in  the  first 
four  numbers  of  the  Russian  Messenger  for  1876. 

lR7fi 

On  1st  March  Tolstoy  writes  to  Fet : 

Things  are  still  not  all  right  with  us.     My  wife  does  not  get 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  371 

over  her  last  illness,  coughs,  gets  thin,  and  has  first  fever  and 
then  headaches.  And  therefore  the  house  lacks  well-being, 
and  I  lack  mental  tranquillity,  which  I  now  particularly  need 
for  my  work.  The  end  of  winter  and  beginning  of  spring  is 
always  my  chief  time  for  work,  and  I  must  finish  my  novel, 
which  now  wearies  me.  ...  I  always  hope  a  tooth  will  come 
loose  in  your  jaw,  or  in  your  thrashing  machine,  and  cause  you 
to  go  to  Moscow.  Then  I  shall  spin  a  cobweb  at  Kozlovka  [the 
nearest  station  to  Yasnaya]  and  catch  you. 

In  April  Fet  wrote  to  Tolstoy  to  say  that  he  had  been 
seriously  ill,  had  thought  he  was  dying,  and  '  wished  to  call 
you  to  see  how  I  departed.'  On  29th  April  Tolstoy  replies 
in  a  letter  notable  because  it  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  the  pro- 
gress he  had  made  in  the  fierce  five-year  inner  struggle  with 
doubt  which  preceded  the  production  of  his  Confession  : 

I  am  grateful  to  you  for  thinking  of  calling  me  to  see  your 
departure,  when  you  supposed  it  was  near.  I  will  do  the  same 
when  I  get  ready  to  go  thither,  if  I  am  able  to  think.  No  one 
will  be  so  necessary  to  me  at  that  moment  as  you  and  my 
brother.  When  death  draws  near,  intercourse  with  people  who 
in  this  life  look  beyond  its  bounds,  is  precious  and  cheering ; 
and  you  and  those  rare  real  people  I  have  met  in  life,  always 
stand  on  the  very  verge  and  see  clearly,  just  because  they  look 
now  at  Nirvana — the  illimitable,  the  unknown — and  now  at 
Sansara;  and  that  glance  at  Nirvana  strengthens  their  sight. 
But  worldly  people,  however  much  they  may  talk  about  God, 
are  unpleasant  to  you  and  me,  and  must  be  a  torment  when 
one  is  dying,  for  they  do  not  see  what  we  see,  namely  the  God 
who  '  is  more  indefinite  and  distant,  but  loftier  and  more 
indubitable,'  as  was  said  in  that  article. 

You  are  ill  and  think  of  death,  and  I  am  alive  and  do  not 
cease  thinking  of  and  preparing  for  the  same  thing.  .  .  .  Much 
that  I  have  thought,  I  have  tried  to  express  in  the  last  chapter 
of  the  April  number  of  the  Russian  Messenger  [Anna  Karenina, 
Part  I,  Chap.  XX]. 

The  passage  referred  to,  telling  of  the  death  of  Le'vin's 
brother,  is  evidently  based  on  the  death  of  Tolstoy's  own 


372  LEO  TOLSTOY 

brother  Demetrius;  and  it  may  here  be  mentioned  that 
many  characters  in  Anna  Karenina  are  drawn  more  or  less 
closely  from  life.  For  instance,  Agafya  Mihaylovna,  the 
servant,  was  a  real  person,  and  that  was  her  real  name.  She 
died  at  Yasnaya  only  a  few  years  ago.  Yasnaya  Polyana 
itself,  in  many  of  its  details,  is  also  described  in  the  novel. 
On  1 2th  May  Tolstoy  again  writes  to  Fet : 

It  is  already  five  days  since  I  received  the  horse,  and  every 
day  I  prepare  but  never  make  time  to  write  to  you.  Here  the 
spring  and  summer  life  has  begun,  and  our  house  is  full  of 
guests  and  of  bustle.  This  summer  life  seems  to  me  like  a 
dream ;  it  contains  some  slight  remains  of  my  real,  winter  life, 
but  consists  chiefly  of  visions,  now  pleasant  and  now  unpleasant, 
from  some  absurd  world  not  ruled  by  sane  sense.  Among 
these  visions  came  your  beautiful  stallion.  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  it.    Where  am  I  to  send  the  money  to  ?  .  .  . 

An  event  which  occupies  me  very  much  at  present  is 
Sergey's  examinations,  which  begin  on  the  27th.  .  .  .  What 
a  terrible  summer  !  Here  it  is  dreadful  and  mournful  to  look  at 
the  wood,  especially  at  the  young  trees.    They  have  all  perished. 

On  18th  May  he  wrote  again  : 

I  have  been  slow  in  answering  your  long  and  cordial  letter 
because  I  have  been  unwell  and  dispirited,  as  I  still  am,  but  I 
will  write  at  least  a  few  lines.  Our  house  is  full  of  people  :  my 
niece  Nagornaya  with  two  children,  the  Kouzminskys  with  four 
children  ;  andSonya  [the  Countess]  is  still  poorly,  and  I  dejected 
and  dull-minded.  Our  one  hope  was  for  good  weather,  and 
that  we  have  not  got.  As  you  and  I  resemble  one  another, 
you  must  know  the  condition  in  which  one  feels  oneself  to  be, 
now  a  God  from  whom  nothing  is  hid,  and  now  stupider  than 
a  horse.  In  that  state  I  am  at  present.  So  do  not  be  exacting. 
Till  next  letter,  yours,  L.  Tolstoy. 

The  Kouzminskys  referred  to  above  were  Tdnya,  her 
husband,  and  their  family.  They  spent  every  summer  at 
Ydsnaya,  in  the  '  wing '  house.  When  discussing  any 
excursion  or  other  undertaking  with  Mr.  Kouzminsky, 
Tolstoy  would   often   say,   '  But   we  must  hear  what  the 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  873 

Authorities  have  to  say  about  it/  the  Authorities  being 
their  wives. 

Passing  into  his  '  summer  condition,'  Tolstoy's  attention 
to  Anna  Karenina  slackened ;  but  before  the  end  of  the 
year  he  set  energetically  to  work  to  finish  it.  The  interest 
aroused  by  the  book  was  extreme,  and  the  story  goes  that 
Moscow  ladies  used  to  send  to  the  establishment  where  the 
novel  was  being  printed,  to  try  to  find  out  what  the  con- 
tinuation would  be. 

On  21st  July  Tolstoy  writes  inviting  Fefs  brother,  Peter 
Afdnasyevitch,  a  great  lover  of  horses,  to  accompany  him  to 
Samara ;  and  in  the  same  letter  he  makes  an  allusion  to  the 
troubles  of  the  Slavs  in  Turkey,  where  fighting  had  already 
been  going  on  for  a  twelvemonth  with  the  Herzegovinians. 
Peter  Afandsyevitch  had  gone  as  a  volunteer,  and  had  re- 
turned after  the  failure  of  the  insurrection. 

21  July  1876. 

I  am  very  much  to  blame,  dear  Afanasy  Afanasyevitch,  for 
having  been  so  slow  in  writing  to  you.  I  prepare  to  write 
every  day,  but  cannot  find  time  because  I  am  doing  nothing.  .  ,  . 
Str^hof  was  here  a  week  ago,  and  we  philosophised  to  the 
point  of  weariness.  .  .  . 

I  press  the  hand  of  Peter  Afanasyevitch.  I  should  like  to 
hear  his  stories  about  Herzegovina,  in  the  existence  of  which  I 
do  not  believe  ! 

I  am  arranging  to  go  to  Samara  in  September.  If  Peter 
Afanasyevitch  has  no  plans  for  September,  will  not  he  go 
with  me  to  see  the  Kirghiz  and  their  horses .''  How  jolly  it 
would  be  ! 

Mention  has  already  been  made  of  the  fact  that  Tolstoy, 
who  undei'stood  horses  very  well,  was  at  this  time  interested 
in  horse-breeding  as  a  source  of  revenue.  To  buy  them  he 
visited  Orenbourg,  where  he  met  General  Kryzhandvsky, 
a  friend  who  had  been  one  of  his  superior  officers  in 
Sevastopol  and  was  now  Governor-General  of  this  northern 
Province.  They  spent  the  time  together  very  pleasantly 
recalling  their  past  experiences. 


874  LEO  TOLSTOY 

To  his  wife,  who  had  found  it  hard  to  consent  to  his 
absence,  he  wrote  in  September : 

I  know  that  it  is  hard  for  you,  and  that  you  are  afraid ;  but 
I  saw  the  effort  you  made  to  control  yourself  and  not  to  hinder 
me  and,  were  it  possible,  I  loved  you  yet  more  on  that  account. 
If  only  God  grants  you  to  spend  the  time  well,  healthily, 
energetically  and  usefully  !  .  .  .  Lord  have  mercy  on  me  and 
on  thee ! 

In  a  letter  of  13th  November  Tolstoy  writes  to  Fet : 

Pity  me  for  two  things:  (1)  a  good-for-nothing  coachman 
took  the  stallions  to  Samara  and,  wishing  to  take  a  short  cut, 
drowned  Gouneba  in  a  bog  within  ten  miles  of  the  estate ;  (2) 
I  sleep  and  cannot  write ;  I  despise  myself  for  laziness  and  do 
not  allow  myself  to  take  up  any  other  work. 

Twenty-eight  years  after  the  loss  of  Gouneba,  the 
Countess,  in  speaking  to  me  of  her  husband's  qualities  as  a 
man  of  affairs,  remarked  that  his  schemes  were  very  good, 
but  that  he  generally  spoilt  them  by  lack  of  care  in  details. 
'  For  instance,'  she  remarked,  '  it  was  quite  a  good  idea  of 
his  to  send  a  very  fine  stallion  which  cost  Rs.  2000  [about 
»£*260]  to  our  estate  in  Samara.  There  were  no  such 
horses  in  the  district ;  but  he  must  needs  entrust  it  to  a 
drunken  Tartar  who  made  away  with  it  and  said  he  had 
lost  it.' 

On  7th  December  1876  Tolstoy  wrote  to  Fet  acknow- 
ledging a  poem,  '  Among  the  Stars,'  which  the  latter  had 
sent  him  : 

That  poem  is  not  only  worthy  of  you,  but  is  specially, 
specially  good,  with  that  philosophic-poetic  character  which  I 
expect  from  you.  It  is  excellent  that  it  is  said  by  the  stars.  .  .  . 
It  is  also  good,  as  my  wife  remarked,  that  on  the  same  sheet  on 
which  the  poem  is  written,  you  pour  out  your  grief  that  the 
price  of  kerosene  has  risen  to  12  copecks.  That  is  an  indirect 
but  sure  sign  of  a  poet. 

The  reader  is  by  this  time  well  aware  of  Tolstoy's  devo- 
tion to  music.     Though  it  was  at  times  crowded  out  of  his 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  875 

life  by  other  interests,  he  always  returned  to  it  with  ardour 
when  opportunity  offered.  Behrs  tells  us  that  Tolstoy 
generally,  when  playing,  chose  serious  music. 

He  often  sat  down  to  the  piano  before  beginning  to  work.  .  .  . 
He  always  accompanied  my  youngest  sister  [Tanya]  and  en- 
joyed her  singing  very  much.  I  noticed  that  the  sensation 
music  evoked  in  him  expressed  itself  by  a  slight  pallor  and  a 
scarcely  perceptible  grimace,  suggestive  of  something  like 
terror.  Hardly  a  day  passed  in  summer  without  my  sister  sing- 
ing and  without  the  piano  being  played.  Occasionally  we  all 
sang  together,  and  he  always  played  the  accompaniments. 

As  Tolstoy's  spiritual  crisis  approached,  the  attraction  of 
music  for  him  seemed  to  increase,  and  it  was  about  this 
period,  that  is  to  say  in  December  1876,  that  he  made 
acquaintance  with  the  composer  P.  I.  Tschaikdvsky,  who  had 
held  the  post  of  Director  of  the  Moscow  Conservatoire,  the 
first  seeds  of  which  Tolstoy  had  helped  to  plant  nearly 
twenty  years  before. 

Tschaikdvsky  had  from  his  youth  up  been  a  devoted 
admirer  of  Tolstoy,  whose  skill  in  reading  the  human  heart 
appeared  to  him  almost  superhuman.  He  was  therefore 
highly  gratified  when  Tolstoy  of  his  own  accord  sought  his 
acquaintance.  At  first  their  personal  intercourse  did  not 
appear  to  lessen  the  composer's  reverence  for  the  author, 
for  on  23rd  December  1876  he  wrote  to  a  friend : 

Count  L.  N.  Tolstoy  spent  some  time  here  recently.  He 
visited  me  several  times  and  spent  two  whole  evenings  with  me. 
I  am  tremendously  flattered,  and  proud  of  the  interest  I  have 
inspired  in  him,  and  for  my  part  am  completely  enchanted  by 
his  ideal  personality. 

Tschaikdvsky  induced  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  then  Direc- 
tor of  the  Moscow  Conservatoire,  to  arrange  a  musical 
evening  solely  for  Tolstoy,  and  at  this  concert,  Rubinstein, 
Fitzenhagen,  and  Adolph  Brddsky,  who  is  now  Principal 
of  the  Manchester  College  of  Music,  were  among  the  chief 
performers. 


376  LEO  TOLSTOY 

One  of  the  pieces  performed  by  a  quartet  was  Tschaikdv- 
sky's  'Andante  in  D  Major,'  which  so  affected  Tolstoy  that 
he  wept.  '  Never,  perhaps,  in  my  life,'  says  Tschaikdvsky, 
*  was  I  so  flattered,  or  my  vanity  as  a  composer  so  touched, 
as  when  Leo  Nikoldyevitch,  sitting  next  to  me  and  listening 
to  the  quartet  performing  my  Andante,  burst  into  tears.' 

After  Tolstoy  had  returned  to  Yasnaya  he  wrote  to 
Tschaikdvsky,  sending  him  a  collection  of  folk-songs,  and 
saying  : 

I  send  you  the  songs,  dear  Peter  Ilyitch.  I  have  again  looked 
them  through.  They  will  be  a  wonderful  treasure  in  your 
hands.  But  for  God's  sake  work  them  up  and  use  them  in  a 
Mozart-Haydn  style,  and  not  in  a  Beethoven-Schumann-Berlioz, 
artificial  way,  seeking  the  unexpected.  How  much  I  left  un- 
said to  you.  I  really  said  nothing  of  what  I  wanted  to  say. 
There  was  no  time.  I  was  enjoying  myself.  This  last  stay  of 
mine  in  Moscow  will  remain  one  of  the  best  of  my  reminis- 
cences. Never  have  I  received  so  precious  a  reward  for  my 
literary  labours  as  on  that  wonderful  evening. 

Tschaikdvsky  replied  : 

Count,  I  am  sincerely  grateful  to  you  for  sending  the  songs. 
I  must  tell  you  candidly  that  they  have  been  taken  down  by  an 
unskilful  hand,  and  bear  only  traces  of  their  pristine  beauty. 
The  chief  defect  is  that  they  have  been  artificially  squeezed 
and  forced  into  a  regular,  measured  form.  Only  Russian  dance 
music  has  a  rhythm  and  a  regular  and  equally  accentuated 
beat ;  but  folk-ballads  have  of  course  nothing  in  common  with 
dance  songs.  Moreover,  most  of  these  songs  are,  arbitrarily 
it  seems,  written  in  a  solemn  D  Major,  which  again  does  not 
suit  a  real  Russian  song,  which  almost  always  has  an  indefinite 
tonality  approximating  nearest  of  all  to  ancient  Church  music. 
In  general,  the  songs  you  have  sent  me  cannot  be  worked  up 
in  a  regular  and  systematic  way :  that  is  to  say,  one  cannot 
make  a  collection  of  them,  because  for  that  they  would  have  to  be 
taken  down  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  way  in  which  the  people 
perform  them.  That  is  an  extremely  difficult  matter,  demand- 
ing fine  musical  feeling  and  great  historico-musical   erudition. 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  377 

Except  Balakiref,  and  to  some  extent  Prokoiinin,  I  do  not  know 
any  one  competent  for  the  task.  But  as  material  for  symphonic 
treatment,  your  songs  can  be  of  use,  and  are  even  very  good 
material,  which  I  certainly  will  avail  myself  of  in  one  way 
or  other. 

It  is  rather  disappointing  to  find  that  the  intercourse  be- 
tween these  two  men,  each  so  great  in  his  own  way,  and  each 
such  an  admirer  of  the  other's  genius,  was  not  continued. 

Tschaikdvsky's  expectations  had  been  pitched  too  high, 
and  he  felt  a  certain  disappointment  that  his  '  demigod ' 
was,  after  all,  but  human.  He  had  dreaded  to  meet  the 
novelist  lest  the  latter  should  penetrate  the  secret  recesses 
of  his  soul ;  but,  says  Tschaikdvsky  : 

He  who  in  his  writings  was  the  deepest  of  heart-seers, 
proved  in  personal  contact  to  be  a  man  of  simple,  whole,  and 
frank  nature,  showing  very  little  of  the  omniscience  I  had 
feared.  ...  It  was  plain  he  did  not  at  all  regard  me  as  a 
subject  for  his  observation,  but  simply  wanted  to  chat  about 
music,  in  which  he  was  then  interested.  He  took  a  pleasure 
in  denying  Beethoven,  and  plainly  expressed  doubts  of  his 
genius.  This  was  a  trait  not  at  all  worthy  of  a  great  man. 
To  pull  down  a  universally  acknowledged  genius  to  the  level 
of  one's  own  intelligence,  is  characteristic  of  small  people. 

Feeling  thus,  Tschaikdvsky  purposely  avoided  meeting 
Tolstoy  again,  and  even  took  a  temporary  aversion  to  Anna 
Karenina^  though  eventually  he  returned  to  his  former 
admiration  of  Tolstoy's  novels. 

Tschaikdvsky  was  not  aware  of  the  reasons  Tolstoy  had 
for  the  unorthodox  position  he  held  on  art  generally  and 
music  in  particular :  reasons  which  it  will  be  more  in  place 
to  deal  with  later  on,  and  which  I  have  in  fact  already 
treated  of  at  some  length  in  a  previous  work,  Tolstoy  and 
his  Problems.  Here  let  it  suffice  to  say  that  there  is  plenty 
of  evidence  to  show  that  Tolstoy  can  enjoy  Beethoven,  and 
enjoy  even  the  works  of  Beethoven's  last  period,  which  are 
the  ones  he  criticises.     There  is,  for  instance,  the  episode 


378  LEO  TOLSTOY 

with  Mile.  Oberlender,  which  will   be   recounted  later  on, 
and  we  have  his  own  statement  in  What  is  Art  ?  : 

I  should  mention  that  whatever  other  people  understand  of 
the  productions  of  Beethoven's  later  period,  I,  being  very  sus- 
ceptible to  music,  equally  understand.  For  a  long  time  I  used 
to  attune  myself  so  as  to  delight  in  those  shapeless  improvisa- 
tions which  form  the  subject-matter  of  the  works  of  Beethoven's 
later  period  ;  but  I  had  only  to  consider  the  question  of  art 
seriously,  and  to  compare  the  impression  I  received  from 
Beethoven's  later  works  with  those  pleasant,  clear,  and  strong 
musical  impressions  which  are  transmitted,  for  instance,  by  the 
melodies  of  Bach  (his  arias),  Haydn,  Mozart,  Chopin  (when  his 
melodies  are  not  overloaded  with  complications  and  ornamenta- 
tion), and  of  Beethoven  himself  in  his  earlier  period,  and  above 
all,  with  the  impressions  produced  by  folk-songs, — Italian, 
Norwegian,  or  Russian, — by  the  Hungarian  tzardas,  and  other 
such  simple,  clear,  and  powerful  music,  and  the  obscure,  almost 
unhealthy  excitement  from  Beethoven's  later  pieces  that  I  had 
artificially  evoked  in  myself  was  destroyed. 

His  work  among  peasant  children  has  convinced  him 
that  the  normal  human  being  possesses  capacities  for  the 
enjoyment  of  art ;  and  that  in  most  unexpected  places  the 
capacity  to  produce  admirable  art  is  now  lying  latent. 
That  is  why  he  sets  up  Brevity,  Simplicity,  and  Sincerity  as 
the  criterions  of  art,  and  why  he  believes  that  folk-tales 
and  folk-songs  and  folk-dances,  the  Gospel  parables,  such  Old 
Testament  stories  as  the  history  of  Joseph,  the  Arabian 
Nights  and  the  Christmas  Carol ;  and  music  such  as  the 
tzardas,  the  Swanee  River,  the  Old  Hmidredth,  and  Bach's 
arias,  are  infinitely  more  important  to  the  life  and  wellbeing 
of  humanity  than  King  Lear  or  the  Ninth  Symphony. 

Tolstoy — who  had  boasted  of  not  reading  newspapers,  and 
who  had  lived  so  detached  from  politics  and  the  events  of 
contemporary  history — began  at  this  time  to  feel  keenly 
interested  in  a  question  closely  connected  with  Russia's 
foreign  policy. 

Following  the  insurrection  in  Herzegovina,  another  had 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  879 

broken  out  in  Bulgaria  in  May  1876,  but  had  been  quickly 
suppressed  by  the  Turks,  who  burnt  some  sixty-five  villages ; 
the  Bashi-Bazouks  committing  unspeakable  atrocities  on 
the  defenceless  inhabitants.  At  the  commencement  of  July, 
Servia  and  Montenegro  declared  war  against  Turkey ;  but, 
in  spite  of  help  rendered  by  numerous  Russian  volunteers, 
they  were  soon  crushed  by  the  Turks,  and  would  have  been 
completely  at  their  mercy  had  not  Russia,  on  31st  October, 
issued  an  ultimatum  demanding  an  armistice,  which  Turkey 
conceded.  On  10th  November  Alexander  II  made  a  speech 
in  the  Moscow  Kremlin,  in  which  he  declared  that  he  would 
act  independently  of  the  other  powers  unless  satisfactory 
guarantees  of  reform  were  obtained  forthwith  from  the 
Sultan.  These  events  gradually  led  to  the  war  which  broke 
out  between  Russia  and  Turkey  in  April  1877. 

Before  this,  however,  in  the  letter  of  13th  November 
1876,  already  quoted,  Tolstoy  wrote  to  Fet  : 

I  went  to  Moscow  to  hear  about  the  war.  This  whole  affair 
agitates  me  greatly.  It  is  well  for  those  to  whom  it  is  clear; 
but  I  am  frightened  when  I  begin  to  reflect  on  all  the  com- 
plexity of  the  conditions  amid  which  history  is  made,  and  how 
some  Madame  A. — with  her  vanity — becomes  an  indispensable 
cog  in  the  whole  machine  ! 

The  Russo-Turkish  imbroglio  led,  early  in  1877,  to 
a  split  between  Tolstoy  and  Katkdf.  Tolstoy,  at  bottom 
and  in  his  own  original  way,  was  certainly  a  reformer ;  and 
his  alliance  with  Katkdf,  who  was  quite  reactionary,  had 
always  been  rather  like  the  yoking  of  an  ox  with  an  ass. 
At  this  time  Katkdf  was  ardent  for  the  liberation  of  the 
Slavs  from  Turkish  tyranny,  laudatory  of  those  who  volun- 
teered for  the  war,  and  eager  for  the  aggrandisement  of 
Russia.  Tolstoy,  with  his  knowledge  of  the  realities  of  war 
and  his  insight  into  the  motives  that  actuate  the  men  who 
fight,  had  his  doubts  about  the  heroic  and  self-sacrificing 
character  of  the  volunteers  and  the  purity  of  the  patriotism 
of  the  press;   and  he  expressed  these  doubts  very  plainly 


380  LEO  TOLSTOY 

in  some  of  the  concluding  chapters  of  Anna  Kartnina :  as, 
for  instance,  where  he  makes  Levin  say  of '  the  unanimity 
of  the  press  ' : 

'  That 's  been  explained  to  me :  as  soon  as  there 's  a  war 
their  incomes  are  doubled.  So  how  can  they  help  believing  in 
the  destinies  of  the  people  and  the  Slavonic  races  .  .  .  and 
all  the  rest  of  it  ? ' 

The  result  was  that  when  the  final  chapters  of  the 
novel  were  appearing  in  the  Russian  Messenger  during  the 
first  months  of  1877,  Katkdf  returned  some  of  the  MS. 
to  Tolstoy  with  numerous  corrections  and  a  letter  saying 
that  he  could  not  print  it  unless  his  corrections  were 
accepted. 

Tolstoy  was  furious  that  a  journalist  should  dare  to 
alter  a  single  word  in  his  book,  and  in  reply  sent  a  sharp 
letter  to  Katkdf,  which  resulted  in  a  rupture.  Tolstoy 
issued  the  last  part  of  Anna  Karenina  separately  in  book 
form  and  not  in  the  magazine,  besides,  of  course,  issuing 
the  whole  work  in  book  form,  as  usual ;  and,  in  the  May 
number  of  his  Russian  Messenger^  Katkdf  had  to  wind  up 
the  story  as  best  he  could,  by  giving  a  brief  summary  of 
the  concluding  part. 

These  events  throw  lig-ht  on  the  following;  letter  to 
Fet; 

23  March  1877. 

You  can't  imagine  how  glad  I  am  to  have  your  approval  of 
my  writmgs,  dear  Afanasy  Afanasyevitch,  and  in  general  to 
receive  your  letter.  You  write  that  the  Russian  Messenger  has 
printed  some  one  else's  poem,  while  your  Temptation  lies  wait- 
ing. It  is  the  dullest  and  deadest  editorial  office  in  existence. 
They  have  become  terribly  repulsive  to  me,  not  on  my  own 
account,  but  for  the  sake  of  others.  .  .  . 

My  head  is  now  better,  but  as  it  gets  better  it  has  to  work 
that  much  harder.  March  and  the  beginning  of  April  are  the 
months  when  I  work  most,  and  I  still  continue  to  be  under  the 
delusion  that  what  I  am  writing  is  very  important,  though  I 
know  that  in  a  month's  time  I  shall  be  ashamed  to  remember 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  381 

that  I  thought  so.  Have  you  noticed  that  a  new  line  has  now 
been  started,  and  that  everybody  is  writing  poetry :  very 
bad  poetry,  but  they  all  do  it.  Some  five  new  poets  have 
introduced  themselves  to  me  lately. 

The  dislike  Tolstoy  felt  of  the  artificially  stimulated  war 
fever  (though,  to  do  Katkdf  and  his  friends  justice,  one  must 
admit  that  no  European  Power  during  the  last  fifty  years 
has  had  more  justification  for  war  than  Russia  had  for 
intervening  in  defence  of  the  Slav  population  of  Turkey) 
was  connected  with  the  religious  impulse  that  was  beginning 
to  reshape  his  whole  life ;  but  it  does  not  appear  that  he 
actually  disapproved  of  the  war  after  Russia  had  officially 
commenced  it.  What  he  primarily  objected  to  was,  that 
private  individuals  should  push  the  Government  into  a  war. 

An  influence  which  has  left  its  traces  in  the  latter  part  of 
Anna  Karenina  (particularly  Part  VII,  Chap.  21)  was 
Tolstoy's  intercourse,  about  this  time,  with  some  of  the 
most  prominent  followers  of  Lord  Radstock,  who  frequently 
visited  Russia  and  obtained  considerable  influence  with  a 
number  of  people  in  certain  aristocratic  Petersburg  circles. 
One  of  these  people,  Count  A.  P.  Bdbrinsky,  who  had  been 
Minister  of  Ways  of  Communication,  made  Tolstoy''s 
acquaintance  and  had  animated  religious  discussions  with 
him.  Both  Bdbrinsky  and  Colonel  Pashkof  (another  very 
prominent  Radstockite)  for  a  while  cherished  hopes  of 
winning  Tolstoy  over  to  Evangelical  Christianity,  and 
making  him  the  spokesman  of  their  cause.  Tolstoy,  as  the 
event  proved,  was  quite  capable  of  throwing  himself  whole- 
heartedly into  a  religious  movement ;  but  he  needed  a  faith 
much  more  clear-cut  than  the  scheme  of  Redemption  by  the 
blood  of  Jesus  :  one  that  faced  the  facts  of  life,  dealt 
explicitly  with  the  bread-and-butter  problem,  and  told  men 
how  to  regard  the  fact  that  some  people  have  to  overtax 
their  strength  without  ever  reaching  an  assured  mainten- 
ance, while  others  have  a  superabundance  provided  for  them 
from  their  birth  without  ever  needing  to  do  a  stroke  of 


382  LEO  TOLSTOY 

work.  His  profound  contempt  for  Evangelical  doctrines 
flashed  out  twenty  years  later,  in  the  17th  Chapter  of 
Book  II  of  Resurrection. 

It  was  a  little  before  this  that  Fet  told  Tolstoy  the 
following  story.  Sauntering  in  a  churchyard,  he  had  come 
upon  an  inscription  which  touched  him  more  than  any 
epitaph  he  had  ever  read.  The  tombstone  was  in  the  form 
of  an  obelisk  of  plain  grey  sandstone.  On  one  of  its  four 
sides  were  deeply  cut  the  words  : 

Here  is  buried  the  body  of  the  peasant  girl  Mary ; 
on  another  side : 

Here  also  is  buried  an  infant  of  the  female  sex. 
On  the  side  opposite  the  name  of  the  deceased  stood  these 
words  ill-spelt : 

This.,  my  dear.,  is  the  last  adornment  I  can  give  thee ; 
and  below  stood  the  name  of 

Retired  non-commissioned  officer  So-and-so. 

In  his  next  letter  Tolstoy  writes : 

18  October  1876. 

J%w,  my  dear^  is  the  last  adornment  I  can  give  tJiee  is 
charming !  I  have  told  it  twice,  and  each  time  my  voice 
has  broken  with  tears. 

In  Tolstoy's  next  letter  to  Fet,  dated  11th  January,  we 
,„^,_    get  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  reasons  that  led  this 
strenuous  worker  to  prefer  a  country  life  : 

Dear  Afanasy  Afanasyevitch, — One  does  not  strike  or  cut 
off  the  head  that  owns  its  fault !  I  confess  that  I  am  quite  at 
fault  towards  you.  But  truly,  in  Moscow  I  am  in  a  condition  of 
irresponsibility ;  my  nerves  are  out  of  order,  the  hours  turn  to 
minutes,  and  as  though  on  purpose,  the  people  I  do  not  want 
turn  up  and  prevent  my  seeing  those  whom  I  do  want. 

Among  the  people  whom  in  his  search  for  truth  Tolstoy 
did  want  to  know,  were  some  of  the  leading  scientists  of 
that  day — a  day  when  many  men  thought  that  Darwin  had 
opened  the  gateway  to  a  knowledge  which  would  gradually 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  383 

solve  the  mysteries  of  life  and  death,  the  here  and  the 
hereafter.  The  great  literary  fame  Tolstoy  now  enjoyed 
made  it  an  easy  matter  to  make  such  acquaintances. 

One  of  the  scientists  he  got  to  know,  was  a  celebrated 
professor  of  Chemistry,  A,  M,  Boutlerdf,  whom  to  his  amaze- 
ment he  found  to  be  much  concerned  with  table-turning  and 
spiritualism  ;  occupations  Tolstoy  held  in  contempt. 

A  letter  to  Fet,  dated  14th  April,  gives  some  inkling  of 
what  was  going  on  in  Tolstoy's  mind  at  this  time : 

I  value  every  letter  of  yours,  especially  such  as  this  last ! 
You  would  hardly  believe  how  pleased  I  am  at  what  you  write 
'On  the  existence  of  the  Deity.'  I  agree  with  it  all,  and 
should  like  to  say  much  about  it,  but  cannot  in  a  letter,  and  am 
too  busy.  It  is  the  first  time  you  have  spoken  to  me  about  the 
Deity — God.  And  I  have  long  been  thinking  unceasingly  about 
that  chief  problem.  Do  not  say  that  one  cannot  think  about 
it !  One  not  only  can,  but  must !  In  all  ages  the  best,  the 
real  people,  have  thought  about  it.  And  if  we  cannot  think  of 
it  as  they  did,  we  must  find  out  how.  Have  you  read  Pejisees 
de  Pascal — i.e.  have  you  read  it  recently  with  a  mature  head- 
piece .''  When  (which  God  grant)  you  come  to  see  me,  we  will 
talk  of  many  things,  and  I  will  give  you  that  book.  Were  I 
free  from  my  novel — of  which  the  end  is  already  in  type  and  I 
am  correcting  the  proofs — I  would  at  once  on  receipt  of  your 
letter  have  come  to  you. 

In  the  middle  of  this  summer  Tolstoy,  bringing  with  him 
N.  Strahof,  paid  Fet  an  unexpected  visit.  The  latter 
had  at  this  time  engaged  as  governess  a  Mile.  Oberlender, 
an  excellent  pianist,  and  in  his  Recollections  he  tells  us  that 
on  this  visit : 

The  Count,  a  sensitive  esthete  by  nature,  was  greatly  taken 
by  the  piano  playing  of  Mile.  Oberlender.  He  sat  down  to  play 
duets  with  her,  and  they  played  through  almost  the  whole  of 
Beethoven. 

Fet  quotes  Tolstoy "'s  comment  on  the  lady's  performance  ; 
'  When  we  were  young,  such  pianists  travelled  across  Europe 


384  LEO  TOLSTOY 

giving  concerts.     She  reads  any  piece  of  music  as  you  read 
poetry,  finding  just  the  suitable  expression  for  each  note,' 

Towards  the  end  of  July,  Tolstoy,  accompanied  by 
N.  Strahof,  visited  for  the  first  time  the  Monastery  of 
Optin,  which  is  situated  in  the  Kalouga  Government,  and  is 
about  135  miles  to  the  west  of  Yasnaya.  A  very  prominent 
figure  in  the  monastic  world  at  that  time  was  the  Staretz 
Father  Ambrose,  with  whom  Tolstoy  had  some  long  con- 
versations. Among  others  whose  acquaintance  Tolstoy  made 
there,  was  a  monk  who  had  formerly  been  an  officer  in 
the  Horse  Guards.  One  of  the  most  important  of  the 
works  Tolstoy  left  for  publication  after  his  death,  is  a  re- 
markable novel  called  Father  Sergius,  the  hero  of  which  is  a 
man  of  the  world  who  becomes  a  monk,  acquires  a  reputa- 
tion for  sanctity,  and  then  yields  to  temptation  and  ends  as 
an  outcast.  His  visits  to  the  Optin  Monastery,  which 
were  repeated  three  times,  supplied  Tolstoy  with  material 
which  many  years  later  he  utilised  in  that  work. 

At  Optin,  Tolstoy  had  met  his  friend  Prince  Obolensky, 
to  whom  on  his  return  journey  he  paid  a  visit  at  the  latter's 
estate  of  Berydsino.  Here  he  renewed  acquaintance  with 
N.  Rubinstein,  who  was  staying  with  Obolensky,  and  whose 
pianoforte  playing  he  enjoyed  intensely. 

A  visit  which  much  interested  Tolstoy  was  paid  him 
about  this  time  by  an  itinerant  story-teller,  expert  in 
folk-lore,  wielding  beautifully  the  simple  language  of 
the  people,  such  as  Tolstoy  loves  and  has  utilised  in  his 
stories.  He  took  down  in  writing  some  of  this  traveller's 
tales,  and  from  them  subsequently  worked  up  into  literary 
form  What  Men  Live  By,  The  Three  Hermits  (included 
in  Twenty-three  Tales),  and  some  others.  The  root  idea 
of  What  Men  Live  By  is  that  of  an  angel  sent  by  God 
to  do  penance  on  earth  for  a  well-intentioned  act  of  dis- 
obedience. It  seems  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  widely  dis- 
seminated of  the  world's  legends,  appearing  and  reappearing 
in  the  literature  of  many  countries  through  many  centuries. 

In  the  latter  part  of  1877  a  number  of  Turkish  prisoners 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  385 

of  war  were  located  in  an  abandoned  sugar-factory  between 
Toula  and  Yasnaya.  Tolstoy  visited  them  there,  and  found 
that  they  were  fairly  well  treated.  Being  himself  greatly 
concerned  about  religion,  he  naturally  talked  to  them  on 
that  subject,  and  was  much  impressed  when  he  found  that 
each  of  them  had  a  copy  of  the  Koran  in  his  kit. 

On  6th  December  another  son,  Andrew  (Audrey),  was  born. 

All  through  this  year,  amid  bustle  and  activity  of  various 
kinds,  spiritual  problems  continued  to  torment  Tolstoy,  and 
his  physical  health  began  to  show  signs  of  the  strain.  Here 
is  a  note  to  Fet,  dated  2nd  September : 

Just  now  I  am  constantly  out  hunting  and  am  busy  arranging 
how  to  place  our  educational  staff  for  the  winter.  I  have  been 
to  Moscow  looking  for  a  teacher  and  a  tutor.  To-day  I  feel 
quite  ill. 

Nor  did  matters  improve  as  the  months  went  on, 
for  on  27th  January  he  again  writes : 

Most  unfortunately  your  suppositions^  dear  Afanasy  Afanasye- 
vitch,  are  wrong.  Not  only  am  I  not  at  work,  but  the  reason  I 
failed  to  answer  you  was  because  I  have  been  ill  all  this  time. 
Lately  I  have  even  been  in  bed  for  some  days.  A  chill  in 
various  forms  :  teeth  and  side,  and  the  result  is  that  time  goes 
by — my  best  time — and  I  do  no  work. 

Then  follows  a  touch  showing  how,  in  many  matters,  his 
wife'^s  mind  was  still  attuned  to  his  own,  though  she  was  not 
sharing  his  spiritual  struggles,  and  in  the  matter  of  the 
education  of  the  children  there  was  already  some  disagree- 
ment between  them  : 

On  reading  it  I  said  to  my  wife, '  Fet's  poem  is  charming,  but 
there  is  one  word  that  is  wrong.'  She  was  nursing  and  bustling 
about  at  the  time  ;  but  at  tea,  having  quieted  down,  she  took  up 
the  poem  to  read,  and  at  once  pointed  out  the  words  'as  the 
Gods  ' — which  I  considered  bad. 

On  25th  March  1878  he  writes  to  Fet : 

Last  week,  after  seventeen  years'  absence,  I  went  to  Peters- 
burg to  purchase  some  land  in  Samara  from  General  B.  .  .  . 

2b 


386  LEO  TOLSTOY 

There  I  met  a  pair  of  Orlof  Generals  who  made  me  shudder : 
it  was  just  as  though  one  were  standing  between  two  sets  of 
rails  with  goods  trains  passing.  To  enter  into  the  minds  of 
these  Generals,  I  had  to  recall  the  rare  days  of  drunkenness 
I  have  experienced,  or  the  days  of  my  very  earliest  childhood. 

After  completing  Anna  Karenina  Tolstoy  again  took  up 
The  Decembrists^  which  he  had  put  aside  in  favour  of  War 
and  Peace  fourteen  years  before.  As  already  mentioned,  a 
second  cousin  of  Tolstoy's  mother,  Prince  S.  G.  Volkdnsky, 
had  been  a  prominent  Decembrist ;  and  Tolstoy  had  at  his 
disposal  a  number  of  family  diaries  and  journals  throwing 
much  light  on  the  subject  of  that  conspiracy.  While  in 
Petersburg  he  made  personal  acquaintance  with  some  of  the 
survivors  of  the  movement,  and  also  applied  to  the  Com- 
mandant of  the  Petropavlof  Fortress — who  happened  to 
be  an  officer  under  whom  he  had  served  in  the  Crimea — for 
permission  to  see  the  Alexis  dungeons,  in  which  the  Decem- 
brists had  been  confined.  The  Commandant  received  him 
very  politely,  allowed  him  to  see  over  other  parts  of  the 
fortress,  but  told  him  that,  though  any  one  could  enter  the 
dungeons,  only  three  persons  in  the  whole  Empire — the 
Emperor,  the  Commandant,  and  the  Chief  of  the  Gendarmes 
— having  once  entered  them,  could  again  leave  them. 

Finally,  after  writing  three  fragments  of  it,  Tolstoy 
abandoned  this  novel,  to  which  he  had  devoted  much 
time.  The  subject  was  one  he  could  hardly  have  dealt 
with  frankly  without  getting  into  trouble  with  the  Censor; 
and  he  had  been  refused  permission  to  study  the  State 
Archives ;  but  in  the  following  passage  Behrs  gives  another, 
and  a  curiously  characteristic,  reason  for  Tolstoy's  decision : 

He  affirmed  that  the  Decembrist  insurrection  was  a  result 
of  the  influence  of  French  nobles,  a  large  number  of  whom  had 
emigrated  to  Russia  after  the  French  Revolution,  As  tutors 
in  aristocratic  families,  they  educated  the  whole  Russian 
nobility,  which  explains  the  fact  that  many  of  the  Decembrists 
were  Catholics.      The  belief  that  the  movement  was  due  to 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  387 

foreign  influence,  and  was  not  a  purely  national  one,  sufficed  to 
prevent  Tolstoy  from  sympathising  with  it. 

Another  letter  to  Fet  again  shows  the  direction  in  which 
Tolstoy's  mind  was  working : 

6  April  1878. 

I  have  received  your  delightful  and  long  letter,  dear  Afanasy 
Afanasyevitch,  Do  not  praise  me.  Really  you  see  in  me  too 
much  good,  and  in  others  too  much  bad.  One  thing  in  me  is 
good :  that  I  understand  you  and  therefore  love  you.  But 
though  I  love  you  as  you  are,  I  am  always  angry  with  you  for 
this,  that  '  Martha  is  anxious  about  many  things ;  but  one  thing 
is  needful.'  And  in  you  that  one  thing  is  very  strong,  but 
somehow  you  disdain  it  and  are  more  concerned  about  arrang- 
ing a  billiard  room.  Don't  suppose  that  I  refer  to  poems  :  though 
I  expect  them  to  come  too  !  But  it  is  not  of  them  I  speak ; 
they  will  come  in  spite  of  the  billiards  ;  I  am  speaking  of  a  con- 
ception of  the  world  which  would  make  it  unnecessary  to  be 
angry  at  the  stupidity  of  mortals.  Were  you  and  I  to  be  pounded 
together  in  a  mortar  and  moulded  into  two  people,  we  should 
make  a  capital  pair.  But  at  present  you  are  so  attached  to 
the  things  of  this  life,  that  should  they  some  day  fail  you,  it 
will  go  hard  with  you ;  while  I  am  so  indifferent  to  them,  that 
life  becomes  uninteresting,  and  I  depress  others  by  an  eternal 
pouring  '  from  void  into  vacuum  '  !  Do  not  suppose  that  I  have 
gone  mad  ;  I  am  merely  out  of  sorts,  but  hope  you  will  love  me 
though  I  be  black. 

The  prolonged  mental  struggle  through  which  Tolstoy 
passed  with  great  suffering  during  the  years  1874-78,  was 
quite  evident  to  those  about  him,  at  least  from  1876  onward. 
Not  merely  did  he  go  regularly  to  church,  and  shut  himself 
up  in  his  study  morning  and  evening  to  pray,  but  his 
former  high  spirits  subsided,  and  his  desire  to  become  meek 
and  humble  was  plainly  noticeable.  One  result  of  his 
altered  attitude  was,  that  he  felt  keenly  that  it  was  wrong 
to  have  an  enemy.  Accordingly  he  wrote  Tourgenef  to 
that  effect,  and  held  out  to  him  the  right  hand  of  friend- 
ship. 


;388  LEO  TOLSTOY 

To  this  Tourgenef  replied  : 

Paris,  8  May  1878. 

Dear  Leo  NikolIyevitch, — I  only  to-day  received  your  letter, 
addressed  poste-restante.  It  gladdened  and  touched  me  very 
much.  With  the  greatest  readiness  will  I  renew  our  former 
friendship,  and  I  warmly  press  the  hand  you  hold  out  to  me. 
You  are  quite  right  in  supposing  me  to  have  no  hostile 
feelings  towards  you.  If  ever  they  existed  they  have  long 
since  disappeared,  and  the  recollection  of  you  only  remains  as 
of  a  man  to  whom  I  am  sincerely  attached,  and  of  a  writer 
whose  first  steps  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  be  the  first  to  hail, 
and  each  new  work  from  whom  has  always  aroused  in  me  the 
liveliest  interest.  I  am  heartily  glad  of  the  cessation  of  the 
misunderstandings  that  arose  between  us. 

I  hope  this  summer  to  be  in  the  Government  of  Orlof,  and  in 
that  case  we  shall  of  course  see  one  another.  Till  then,  I  wish 
you  all  that  is  good,  and  once  more  press  your  hand  in  friendship. 

On  13th  June,  on  the  point  of  starting  for  Samara  with 
the  elder  children  and  their  tutor,  Tolstoy  writes  to  Fet : 

I  have  seldom  so  enjoyed  a  summer  as  this  year,  but  a  week 
ago  I  caught  cold  and  fell  ill,  and  only  to-day  have  I  come  to 
life  again. 

Somewhat  later  in  the  summer  the  Countess,  with  the 
younger  children,  joined  her  husband  in  Samara. 

Hardly  were  the  Tolstoys  back  from  Samara  before 
Tourgenef  wrote  from  Moscow  that  he  would  be  in  Toiila 
on  the  following  Monday,  7th  August.  Tolstoy,  accom- 
panied by  his  brother-in-law,  drove  thither  to  meet  him,  and 
brought  him  to  Yasnaya,  where  he  passed  a  couple  of  days. 
Both  writers  were  delighted  to  feel  that  their  seventeen- 
year  disagreement  was  ended ;  and  the  Countess,  who  when 
a  girl  had  known  Tourgenef  well,  was  equally  pleased  to 
welcome  him  to  the  house. 

A  lady  who  was  there  at  the  time,  tells  us  that  the  two 
writers  spent  much  of  their  time  in  philosophic  and  religious 
conversation  in  Tolstoy's  study,  but : 

When  they  came  out  into  the  sitting-room  their  conversation 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  389 

became  general  and  took  a  different  turn.  Tourgenef  told 
with  pleasure  of  the  villa  Bougival  which  he  had  just  bought 
near  Paris,  and  of  its  comfort  and  arrangements,  saying,  '  We 
have  built  a  charming  conservatory,  costing  ten  thousand 
francs/  and  '  we  '  did  so-and-so  and  so-and-so,  meaning  by  '  we,' 
the  Viardot  family  and  himself, 

'  Of  an  evening  we  often  play  vhit  [a  game  similar  to  bridge] 
— do  you  ?'  he  asked  Tolstoy. 

*No,  we  never  play  cards,'  replied  the  Count,  and  turned  the 
conversation  to  another  topic. 

Knowing  that  he  was  fond  of  chess,  the  Countess  Tolstoy 
asked  him  to  play  a  game  with  her  eldest  son,  a  lad  of  fifteen, 
saying,  '  He  will  all  his  life  remember  having  played  with 
Tourgenef.' 

Tourgenef  condescendingly  agreed,  and  began  a  game,  while 
continuing  to  talk  to  us. 

'  In  Paris  I  often  used  to  play  chess  and  was  considered  a 
good  player.  They  called  me  le  chevalier  de  pion.  I  am  fond 
of  pawns.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  the  new  phrase  now  in  fashion 
among  the  French — vietix  jeu  f  Whatever  you  say,  a  French- 
man replies,  "  Vieux  jeii  I  "  ' 

'Eh  !  but  one  must  not  joke  with  you,'  he  exclaimed  suddenly, 
turning  to  his  youthful  opponent.    'You  have  all  but  done  for  me.' 

And  he  began  to  play  carefully,  and  only  won  the  game  with 
difficulty,  for  young  Tolstoy  really  played  chess  excellently. 

At  evening  tea  Tourgenef  told  how  he  had  played  the  part 
of  a  satyr  at  M™®  Viardot's  private  theatricals,  and  how  some 
of  the  audience  had  gazed  at  him  with  amazement.  We  knew 
that  he  had  himself  written  the  piece  (a  sort  of  operetta) 
for  those  theatricals,  and  knew  also  that  Russians,  both 
abroad  and  at  home,  disapproved  of  his  playing  the  fool  for 
^jme  Viardot's  amusement ;  and  we  all  felt  uncomfortable.  In 
telling  it  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  justify  himself,  but  he  soon 
passed  on  to  another  theme,  and  we  breathed  more  freely. 

He  had  the  gift  of  words  and  spoke  readily  and  smoothly, 
but  seemed  to  prefer  narrating  to  conversing.  He  told  us 
of  his  confinement  in  the  Hauptwerk  of  the  Spassky  Police- 
station  in  Petersburg,  for  his  article  on  the  death  of  Gogol, 
and  he  described  how  dull  it  was.  .  .  • 


390  LEO  TOLSTOY 

Tolstoy  also  narrated,  and  I  liked  his  stories  better :  they 
were  more  strongly  sketched,  often  humorous,  and  always 
original.  In  them  much  was  simple,  unexpected  and  touching. 
.  .  .  I.  S.  Aksakof  used  to  say,  with  reference  to  Tolstoy's 
gigantic  power,  that  he  had  '  a  bear-like  talent,'  but  I  will  add 
that  his  soul  is  as  meek  'as  a  dove,'  and  as  enthusiastic  as  a 
youth ;  and  that  the  union  of  those  two  qualities  explains  the 
new  direction  he  has  since  taken,  a  direction  which  so  dis- 
tressed Tourgenef. 

An  hour  before  midnight  Tourgenef  rose. 

*  It  is  time  for  me  to  go  to  the  station,'  said  he. 

We  all  rose.  The  railway  station  was  one-and-a-half  miles 
away,  and  Count  Leo  Nikolayevitch  drove  with  him,  to  see  him 
ofF. 

Behrs  also  writes  of  the  same  visit : 

At  dinner  Tourgenef  told  many  stories,  and  to  the  delight  of 
the  younger  folk  mimicked  not  only  persons,  but  animals  also. 
Thus,  placing  one  hand  under  the  other,  he  depicted  a  fowl 
waddling  in  the  soup,  and  then  imitated  a  hunting  dog  at  a 
loss.  As  I  listened  to  him  and  watched  his  tricks  I  couldn't 
help  thinking  that  he  evidently  inherited  something  of  the 
talent  for  which  one  of  his  ancestors  under  Peter  the  Great 
enjoyed  no  little  fame. 

This  was  the  last  summer  Behrs,  now  a  young  man  of 
twenty-three,  passed  with  Tolstoy  before  taking  up  official 
work  in  the  Caucasus.  His  evidence  fully  supports  that 
of  others  who  have  seen  Tolstoy  in  contact  with  children, 
peasants  or  native  races :  to  all  of  these  Tolstoy  extends 
his  charm  of  comprehension,  consideration,  and  sympathy. 

Whenever  Tolstoy  went  out  with  his  gun  and  his  dogs, 
Behrs  used  to  accompany  him ;  and  together  they  would 
ride  twenty-four  miles  from  Ydsnaya  to  visit  Count  Sergius 
Tolstoy  at  Pirogdvo.  Leo  Tolstoy  took  his  brother-in- 
law  on  these  visits,  Behrs  says,  '  for  my  sake,  if  not  for 
his  own,  since  he  knew  what  pleasure  it  gave  me  to  be 
with  him.'  The  remark  he  made  when  he  heard  that 
Behrs  had  obtained  an  official  appointment  in  the  Caucasus 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  391 

is  characteristic :  '  You  are  too  late  for  the  Caucasus.  The 
whole  country  already  stinks  of  officials.'  Characteristic 
too  of  the  feeling  Tolstoy  inspires  among  those  who  know 
him  most  intimately,  is  Behrs's  concluding  remark  :  '  I  at 
least  am  aware  of  nothing  in  his  life  that  needs  to  be  con- 
cealed.' 

At  the  beginning  of  September  Tourgenef,  on  his  return 
from  his  estate,  again  visited  Yasnaya,  but  he  arrived  at  an 
unfortunate  time,  when  there  was  illness  in  the  house,  and 
he  paid  but  a  short  visit. 

One  sees  by  a  letter  to  Fet  on  5th  September  that  Tolstoy 
still  found  himself  unable  to  be  quite  intimate  with  his 
fellow  novelist : 

Tourgenef  on  his  return  journey  came  to  see  us  and  was 
glad  to  receive  your  letter.  He  is  still  the  same^  and  we  know 
the  degree  of  nearness  possible  between  us. 

I  have  a  terrible  desire  to  write  something,  but  feel  a  de- 
pressing doubt  whether  this  is  a  false  or  a  true  appetite. 

The  last  sentence  must  refer  to  the  Confession,  most  of 
which  was  not  written  till  the  next  year. 
In  October  he  again  wrote  to  Fet : 

I  do  not  know  how  or  in  what  spirit  to  begin  to  write  to  yoUj 
dear  Afanasy  Afanasyevitch ;  any  way,  there  are  no  words  for 
it  but,  '  I  am  to  blame,  I  am  to  blame,  and  I  am  altogether  to 
blame ! '  Though  it  is  always  superfluous  for  apologisers  to 
explain  their  reasons,  I  will  yet  write  mine  because  they  are 
true  and  explain  my  condition.  For  a  month  past,  if  not 
more,  I  have  been  living  amid  the  fumes  not  of  external  occur- 
rences (on  the  contrary  we  are  by  ourselves,  living  quietly)  but 
of  what  is  going  on  inside  :  something  I  knoAv  not  how  to  name. 
I  go  out  shooting,  read,  reply  to  questions  put  to  me,  eat,  and 
sleep,  but  can  do  nothing,  not  even  write  a  letter,  a  score  of 
which  have  collected. 

Apparently  while  in  bad  spirits,  he  wrote  to  Tourge'nef 
asking  him  not  to  refer  to  his  (Tolstoy's)  writings — for  the 
latter  replies  on  15th  October,  saying :  '  I  am  glad  you  are 


392  LEO  TOLSTOY 

all  physically  well,  and  hope  the  "  mental  sickness  "  of  which 
you  write  has  now  passed.'     He  then  continues : 

Although  you  ask  me  not  to  speak  of  your  writings,  I  must 
still  remark  that  it  has  never  happened  to  me  to  laugh  at  you 
'  even  a  little.'  Some  of  your  things  pleased  me  veiy  much ; 
others  did  not  please  me  at  all ;  while  others  again,  such  as 
The  Cossacks  for  instance,  afforded  me  great  pleasure  and 
excited  my  wonder.  But  what  ground  was  there  for  laughter .'' 
I  thought  you  had  long  since  got  rid  of  such  'reflexive' 
feelings.  Why  are  they  current  only  among  authors,  and  not 
among  musicians,  painters,  and  other  artists  ?  Probably  because 
in  literary  work  more  of  that  part  of  the  soul  is  exposed,  which 
it  is  not  quite  convenient  to  show.  But  at  our  (already  mature) 
age  as  authors,  it  is  time  we  were  accustomed  to  it. 

This  displeased  Tolstoy,  who  in  his  next  letter  to  Fet 
expressed  his  vexation  with  Tourgenef  who,  I  imagine,  had 
not  intended  to  give  offence : 

22  November  1878. 

Dear  AfanIsy  AfanXsyevitch, — I  will  go  to  Moscow  and 
have  '  I  am  to  blame '  printed  on  my  notepaper.  But  I  don't 
think  I  am  to  blame  for  not  replying  to  the  letter  in  which  you 
promised  to  come  and  see  us.  I  remember  my  joy  at  that  news, 
and  that  I  replied  immediately.  If  not,  still  please  don't  punish 
me,  but  come.  .  .  . 

Yesterday  I  received  a  letter  from  Tourgenef;  and  do  you 
know,  I  have  decided  that  it  will  be  better  to  'keep  further 
away  from  him  and  from  sin '  [A  common  Russian  saying].  He 
is  an  unpleasant  sort  of  quarrel-maker. 

My  congratulations  to  you  on  your  birthday.  I  will  not  in 
future  omit  to  congratulate  you  on  the  23rd,  and  hope  not  to 
forget  it  for  the  next  dozen  times.  That  will  be  enough  for 
either  of  us.     Au  revoir  I 

Fet  was  destined  to  live  four  years  beyond  the  span 
Tolstoy  allotted  him,  and  Tolstoy  himself  is  still  with  us, 
though  more  than  thirty  years  have  passed  since  that  letter 
was  written ;   and  what  strenuous  years  they  have  been ! 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  39'.i 

How  he  has  wrestled  with  life''s  greatest  problems  one  after 
another,  and  how  he  has  flung  down  before  the  world  his 
opinions  (right,  wrong,  or  motley)  on  dogmatic  theology, 
Christ's  Christianity,  religion  in  general,  economic  and  social 
problems,  famine,  the  employment  of  violence,  war,  con- 
scription, Government,  patriotism,  the  sex  problem,  art, 
science,  food-reform  and  the  use  of  stimulants  and  narcotics, 
besides  producing  a  series  of  simple  stories  for  the  people, 
as  well  as  more  complex  ones  for  the  rest  of  society,  three 
plays,  one  great  novel,  and  a  stream  of  weighty  and  interest- 
ing essays  and  letters  which  have  poured  forth  from  Yasnaya 
in  an  increasing  stream  as  the  years  went  by  ;  not  to  mention 
works  kept  back  for  posthumous  publication,  at  the  mention 
of  which  the  literary  world  pricks  up  its  ears ! 

On  1st  October  1878  Tourgenef  wrote  to  Fet  from 
Bougival,  again  saying  that  he  intended  to  translate  The 
Cossacks  into  French,  and  adding,  'It  will  give  me  great 
pleasure  to  assist  in  acquainting  the  French  public  with  the 
best  story  that  has  been  written  in  our  language.' 

In  another  letter  from  Bougival  in  December,  he 
remarked : 

I  was  verj'  glad  to  come  together  with  Tolstoy,  and  I  spent 
three  pleasant  days  with  him ;  his  whole  family  are  very 
sympathetic,  and  his  wife  is  charming.  He  has  grown  very 
quiet  and  has  matured.  His  name  begins  to  gain  European 
celebrity :  we  Russians  have  long  known  that  he  has  no 
rivals. 

The  course  of  the  story  has  swept  me  a  little  past 
Tolstoy's  fiftieth  birthday — the  point  at  which  I  intended 
to  close  this  first  part  of  my  work.  Besides  giving  some 
brief  survey  of  his  writings  during  his  first  twenty-five  years 
of  authorship,  all  that  now  remains  is  to  give  a  summary 
of  that  remarkable  work,  his  Confession,  which  shows  us 
vi\adly,  though  with  some  amount  of  involuntary  artistic 
heightening,  what  had  been  going  on  in  his  mind  and  soul 
from  1874  to  1879,  the  year  in  which  it  was  written. 


394  LEO  TOLSTOY 

By  way  of  brief  preface  to  his  Confession,  it  will  be  in 
place  to  say  a  few  words  about  two  different  tendencies 
which,  each  in  its  own  way,  influenced  Tolstoy.  On  the 
one  hand  there  was  the  religious  life  of  the  people,  with  all 
its  Medieval  traditions.  Tolstoy  had  only  to  go  a  short 
walk  from  his  house  to  reach  the  highroad,  on  which  pil- 
grims going  afoot  to  the  shrines  of  the  Saints  could  always 
be  met;  and  he  had  many  a  conversation  with  these  pil- 
grims at  the  rest-house  they  frequented.  Among  them  there 
were  many  to  whom  the  things  of  this  world  were  certainly 
less  precious  than  obedience  to  the  will  of  God  as  they 
understood  it ;  and  Tolstoy's  stories  show  us  how  closely  he 
observed  these  people,  and  how  near  some  of  them  came  to 
his  soul.  On  the  other  hand  he  was  influenced  by  the 
quite  modem  and  very  remarkable  movement  that  was  at 
this  time  beginning  to  make  itself  felt  in  Russia ;  a  move- 
ment having  its  roots  in  conditions  of  life  which  greatly 
disturbed  Tolstoy's  own  mind,  and  which  took  as  one  of 
its  watchwords  the  motto  'Towards  the  People' — a  senti- 
ment quite  in  harmony  with  his  own  attitude. 

In  1875  public  attention  was  aroused  by  the  trial  of  the 
Dolgoushin  group  of  propagandists  ;  and  the  trial  of  '  The 
Moscow  50,'  in  March  1877,  revealed  the  fact  that  a  number 
of  girls  of  wealthy  families  were  voluntarily  leading  the  life 
of  factory  hands  working  fourteen  hours  a  day  in  over- 
crowded factories,  that  they  might  come  into  touch  with 
working  people,  to  teach  them,  and  to  carry  on  a  social 
and  political  propaganda  among  them.  Then  followed  the 
historic  trial  of 'The  193'  in  1878. 

These  and  many  other  indications  showed  that  in  spite  of 
the  repressive  measures  of  the  Government,  a  steadily  in- 
creasing number  of  Russians  felt  (what  Tolstoy  also  felt 
strongly)  that  the  existing  order  of  society  results  in  the 
mass  of  the  people  having  to  live  in  conditions  of  blighting 
ignorance  and  grinding  poverty  ;  while  the  parasitic  minority 
who  live  in  plenty  and  sometimes  in  extravagant  super- 
fluity, render  no  service  at  all  equivalent  to  the  cost  of  their 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  895 

maintenance.  The  mere  statement  that  those  who  had 
received  an  education  thanks  to  the  work  of  the  masses, 
owe  service  to  the  masses  in  return,  sufficed  to  rouse  to 
action  some  of  the  young  men  and  women  of  that  day. 
They  left  their  wealthy  homes,  lived  the  simplest  lives,  ran 
fearful  risks,  and  according  to  their  lights — sometimes  not 
very  clear  ones — devoted  themselves  to  the  service  of  the 
people. 

While  this  was  going  on  around  him,  a  man  with  such 
a  temperament  as  Tolstoy's,  could  not  be  at  rest. 

Already  in  1875  Mihayldvsky  had  published  a  remarkable 
series  of  articles  on  The  Right  and  Left  Hand  of  Count 
Tolstoy,  in  which  he  pointed  out  that  that  author's  works 
reveal  the  clash  of  contrary  ideals  and  tendencies  in  the 
writer's  soul,  and  that  especially  his  educational  articles 
contain  ideas  quite  in  conflict  with  certain  tendencies 
noticeable  in  War  and  Peace.  With  remarkable  prevision 
Mihayldvsky  predicted  an  inevitable  crisis  in  Tolstoy's  life, 
and  added  : 

One  asks  oneself  what  such  a  man  is  to  do,  and  how  he  is  to 
live  ?  .  .  .  I  think  an  ordinary  man  in  such  a  position  would  end 
by  suicide  or  drunkenness ;  but  a  man  of  worth  will  seek  for 
other  issues — and  of  these  there  are  several. 

One  of  these  he  suggested  would  be,  to  write  for  the  people 
(Tolstoy's  Readers  had  already  been  published)  or  to  write  so 
as  to  remind  '  Society '  that  its  pleasures  and  amusements 
are  not  those  of  the  mass  of  mankind,  and  thus  to  arouse 
the  latent  feelings  of  justice  in  some  who  now  forget  the 
debt  they  owe  to  their  fellows. 

In  fact,  the  trial  of  'The  193'  or  the  movement  from 
which  it  arose,  had  a  vital,  though  indirect,  influence  on 
Tolstoy,  who  at  this  time  had  engaged  V.  I.  Alexeyef, 
a  graduate  of  Petersburg  University,  as  mathematical 
master  for  his  son.  Alexeyef  had  been  a  member  of  the 
Tchaykdvsky  group  which  carried  on  an  educational  propa- 
ganda in   elementary  Socialism  in   the   early   '70's.      The 


396  LEO  TOLSTOY 

activities  of  this  group  were  so  restricted,  and  they  were  so 
hampered  by  the  police,  that  some  of  its  members,  feeling 
a  need  of  freer  activity,  migrated  to  Kansas,  where  for  two 
years  they  carried  on  an  agricultural  colony.  Dissensions 
arose  among  them,  and  their  experiment  failed.  Alexeyef 
returned  to  Russia;  Tchaykdvsky  settled  in  England, 
where  he  spent  many  years,  and  only  returned  to  Russia 
after  the  amnesty  of  1905,  to  be  again  arrested  and  to 
spend  more  than  a  year  in  prison  awaiting  a  trial  which 
ended  in  his  acquittal.  Tolstoy  noticed  that  Alexeyef 
was  a  man  who  shaped  his  life  in  accord  with  his  beliefs, 
and  he  respected  him  accordingly,  and  through  him  made 
acquaintance  with  some  of  the  best  representatives  of 
the  immature  Socialist  movement  then  brewing  in  Russia. 
We  have  here  a  remarkable  example  of  the  indirect 
way  in  which  thoughts  influence  the  world.  Auguste 
Comte  wrote  a  philosophy.  Having  filtered  through  the 
minds  of  G.  H.  Lewes  and  J.  S.  Mill,  it  reached  Nicholas 
Tchaykdvsky  when  he  was  a  schoolboy  of  fourteen  in  the 
Seventh  Gymnasium  in  Petersburg.  '  It  fascinated  me  to 
such  an  extent,'  says  he  in  the  reminiscences  contributed  to 
G.  H.  Perris's  interesting  book,  Russia  in  Revolution,  '  that, 
while  sitting  in  school,  I  longed  to  get  back  to  our  lodgings 
and  to  my  chosen  reading.  The  more  I  progressed,  the  more 
I  was  absorbed.  This  study  powerfully  affected  my  mind 
and  systematised  my  ideas.'  A  few  years  later  Tchaykdvsky, 
having  read  much  meanwhile,  formed  his  group,  which 
sowed  the  seeds  of  changes  yet  to  come.  Progress,  however, 
was  very  slow,  and  he  felt  '  the  ineffectiveness  of  ordinary 
political  and  socialistic  propaganda  among  a  deeply  religious 
peasantry,  still  hopeful  of  benefits  from  above.'  This 
forced  him  to  reconsider  the  whole  situation.  '  I  met,' 
adds  he,  'some  friends  with  whom  I  began  to  work  upon 
the  rather  Utopian  idea  of  formulating  a  new  religion, 
and,  for  the  sake  of  more  effective  experiment,  we  were 
soon  compelled  to  transfer  oui'selves  with  this  stupendous 
mission,  to  the  steppes  of  Kansas.' 


NEARING  THE  CRISIS  397 

Wishing  to  transform  society,  Tchaykdvsky  had  seen  tlie 
need  of  some  systematic  outlook  on  life — '  a  new  religion,"  in 
fact.  Dissatisfied  with  his  own  outlook  on  life,  Tolstoy 
was  seeking  a  new  religion,  and  when  he  found  it,  it  led 
him  to  demand  great  changes  in  society.  The  mature 
novelist  and  the  young  propagandist,  who  have  never  met  in 
the  flesh,  had  therefore  much  in  common ;  though  Tolstoy 
dislikes  the  works  of  Comte  and  Mill,  which  had  done  so 
much  for  Tchaykdvsky,  and  can  hardly  speak  of  them  with 
tolerance  (except  Mill's  Autobiography,  which  interests  him). 
Detesting  the  methods  of  violence  to  which  those  who 
succeeded  Tchaykdvsky  felt  themselves  driven,  Tolstoy  could 
still  not  doubt  the  sincerity  of  the  faith  that  actuated  most 
of  them ;  for  they  had  all  to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain  by 
joining  the  revolutionary  movement.  Sophie  Perdvsky, 
one  of 'the  193 '  (subsequently  hanged  in  Petersburg  for 
taking  part  in  the  assassination  of  Alexander  II),  was  the 
daughter  of  the  Governor-General  of  that  city,  and 
was  a  niece  of  the  Minister  of  Education.  Demetrius 
Lisogoub,  a  landowner,  devoted  his  whole  fortune  of 
some  d£'40,000  to  the  movement ;  and  was  hanged  in 
Odessa.  Prince  Peter  Kropdtkin  risked  his  all  to  give 
lessons  to  workmen ;  and  escaped  abroad,  having  lost 
position,  fortune,  and  the  right  to  live  in  his  native  land. 
Tolstoy,  an  older  man,  with  a  strong  character  and 
definite  views  of  his  own  on  many  points,  could  not  join 
the  Socialist  movement,  but  that  he  was  influenced  by  it 
is  beyond  doubt. 

The  state  of  Russian  life  was  indeed  such  that  men  of  sen- 
sitive consciences  could  not  be  at  rest  (as,  indeed,  when  and 
where  in  the  wide  world  can  they  ?),  and  the  work  Tolstoy 
had  already  done,  marked  him  out  as  one  in  whose  soul  the 
struggle  which  was  moving  others,  would  assuredly  be 
fought  out  strenuously.  No  one  however,  and  certainly  not 
he  himself,  as  yet  knew  what  eflTect  that  crisis  would  have 
upon  him,  or  what  his  cours(f?  of  life  would  be  in  the  years 
that  were  to  come. 


398  LEO  TOLSTOY 


CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  X 

Besides  books  mentioned  in  last  chapter,  information  relating  to 
this  period  is  contained  in  a  number  of  magazines  and  newspaper 
articles,  of  which  the  following  are  the  most  important. 

On  the  Education  dispute  see  : 
Moskov.  Eparhial.  Ved.,  October  1874. 
Rousskiya  Vedomosti,  1894,  No.  31. 
N.  K.  Mihaylovsky's  Zapiski  Fro/ana,  and 

E.  Schuyler  in  Eousskaya  Starina,  October  1870,  and  in  Scribner's 
Magazine,  May  and  June,  1889. 

About  Samara  Famine,  etc. ,  see  : 

A.  S.  Prougavin  in  Obrazovaniye,  Nov.  1902. 

On  Tourgenef's  visit  to  Yasnaya  see  : 
Tobolskiya  Goubern.  Vedomosti,  1893,  No.  26. 

The  Rousskoye  Obozreniye,  1896,  contains  a  letter  from  Tolstoy  to 

Fet. 
The  Vestnik  Evropy,  June  1904,  contains  M.  Zaharina's  Vospomin- 

aniya  gr.  A.  A.  Tolstaya. 

Zhisn  P.  I.  Tschaikovskavo. 

Pervoe  Sobranie  pisem  Tourgeneva,  I84O-IS8S ;  Petersburg,  1884. 
P.  A.  Sergeyenko  in  Niva,  No.  8,  1906. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CONFESSION 

What  is  the  meaning  of  life  ?  Thoughts  of  suicide.  The 
traveller  in  the  well.  Schopenhauer  and  Solomon.  Four 
ways  of  meeting  the  problem.  The  peasants'  answer.  The 
finite  linked  to  the  infinite.  Faith  essential.  Faiths  that 
obscure.  Why  life  seemed  meaningless.  The  search  for 
God.  The  infallibility  of  the  Church.  Rites  and  prayers. 
Communion.  The  lives  of  the  Saints.  The  Orthodox  and  the 
Sectarians.     War.     The  need  to  unravel  truth  from  error. 

This  chapter  is  a  summary  of  Tolstoy's  Confession^  or 
*  Introduction  to  a  Criticism  of  Dogmatic  Theology  and  to 
an  Investigation  of  the  Christian  Teachings,'  as  the  Russian 
title  ran,  from  the  first  pages  of  which  I  have  already  quoted 
freely  in  the  preceding  chapters.  I  have  kept  as  much  to 
Tolstoy's  words  as  possible,  but  having  to  condense,  I  have 
not  only  omitted  much,  but  have  also  paraphrased  some 
passages  to  avoid  repetition.  The  plan  I  have  adopted, 
since  this  is  a  Life  and  not  a  theological  treatise,  has  been 
to  cut  down  to  a  mere  skeleton  the  abstract  argument  of 
Tolstoy's  Confession,  while  giving  almost  in  full  what  he 
says  about  his  own  experience. 

Many  men,  at  the  age  of  puberty,  or  at  any  rate  while 
their  minds  were  still  maturing,  have  experienced  the  change 
known  as  '  Conversion.'  That  is  to  say,  they  have  more  or 
less  suddenly  turned  round  and  looked  at  life  from  a  fresh 

^  It  is  strange  that  Tolstoy's  Confession  has  not  yet  been  put  into  English 
at  all  reproducing  the  vigorous  simplicity  of  the  original.  There  is,  I  think, 
nothing  better  than  the  threepenny  edition  issued  by  the  Free  Age  Press 
under  the  title,  How  1  Came  to  Believe ;  and  on  looking  at  that  to  see  if  I 
could  quote  from  it,  I  find  that  it  is  not  good  enough. 

898 


400  LEO  TOLSTOY 

point  of  view :  what  in  their  nature  had  been  latent  or 
secondary  has  become  dominant  and  primary,  and  things 
temporal  and  material  have  become  subordinate  to  things 
spiritual  and  eternal. 

What  is  unusual  about  the  story  of  Tolstoy''s  conversion 
is  that  it  came  so  late  in  life  and  so  gradually,  and  that 
the  intellect  played  so  large  a  part  in  it. 

Some  men  take  to  religion  at  the  prompting  of  the  heart, 
others  at  the  prompting  of  the  brain  ;  and  Tolstoy  belongs  to 
the  latter  category,  not  from  lack  of  heart,  but  because  strong 
as  are  his  emotions,  his  intellectual  power  is  stronger  still. 

His  CoTifession  was  written  in  1879,  and  in  it  he  says  : 

Five  years  ago  something  very  strange  began  to  happen 
to  me :  At  first  I  experienced  moments  of  perplexity  and 
arrest  of  life,  as  though  I  did  not  know  how  to  live  or  what 
to  do ;  and  I  felt  lost  and  became  dejected.  But  this  passed, 
and  I  went  on  living  as  before.  Then  these  moments  of 
perplexity  began  to  recur  oftener  and  oftener,  and  always 
in  the  same  form.  They  were  always  expressed  by  the 
questions  :  What  ""s  it  for  ?     What  does  it  lead  to  ? 

At  first  it  seemed  to  me  that  these  were  aimless  and 
irrelevant  questions,  I  thought  that  it  was  all  well  known, 
and  that  if  I  should  ever  wish  to  deal  with  the  solution,  it 
would  not  cost  me  much  effort ;  just  at  present  I  had  no 
time  for  it,  but  when  I  wanted  to  I  should  be  able  to  find 
the  answer.  The  questions,  however,  began  to  repeat  them- 
selves frequently,  and  more  and  more  insistently  to  demand 
replies ;  and  like  drops  of  ink  always  falling  on  one  place, 
they  ran  together  into  one  black  blot. 

That  occurred  which  happens  to  every  one  sickening  with 
a  mortal  internal  disease.  At  first  trivial  signs  of  indis- 
position appear,  to  which  the  sick  man  pays  no  attention; 
then  these  signs  reappear  more  and  more  often,  and  merge 
into  one  uninterrupted  period  of  suffering.  The  suffering 
increases,  and  before  the  sick  man  can  look  round,  what  he 
took  for  a  mere  indisposition  has  already  become  more  impor- 
tant to  him  than  anything  else  in  the  world — it  is  death  ! 


CONFESSION  401 

That  was  what  happened  to  me.  I  understood  that  it 
was  no  casual  indisposition,  but  somethinf^  very  important, 
and  that  if  these  questions  constantly  repeated  themselves, 
it  would  be  necessary  to  answer  them.  And  I  tried  to  do 
so.  The  questions  seemed  such  stupid  simple  childish 
questions ;  but  as  soon  as  I  touched  them  and  tried  to  solve 
them,  I  at  once  became  convinced  (1)  that  tliey  are  not 
childish  and  stupid,  but  the  most  important  and  the  deepest 
of  life's  questions;  and  (2)  that,  try  as  I  would,  I  could  not 
solve  them.  Before  occupying  myself  with  my  Samara 
estate,  the  education  of  my  son,  or  the  writing  of  a  book, 
I  had  to  know  why  I  was  doing  it.  As  long  as  I  did  not 
know  why,  I  could  do  nothing,  and  could  not  live.  Amid 
the  thoughts  of  estate  management  which  greatly  occupied 
me  at  that  time,  the  question  would  suddenly  occur  to  me : 
'  Well,  you  will  have  16,000  acres  of  land  in  Samara  Govern- 
ment and  300  horses,  and  what  next  ? '  .  .  .  And  I  was 
quite  disconcerted,  and  did  not  know  what  to  think.  Or, 
when  considering  my  plans  for  the  education  of  my  children, 
I  would  say  to  myself:  What  for?  Or  when  considering 
how  the  peasants  might  be  prosperous,  I  suddenly  said  to 
myself, '  But  what  business  is  it  of  mine  ?"*  Or  when  think- 
ing of  the  fame  my  works  would  bring  me,  I  said  to  myself, 
'  V'^ery  well :  you  will  be  more  famous  than  Gogol  or 
Poushkin  or  Shakespear  or  Moliere,  or  than  all  the  writers 
in  the  world — and  what  will  it  lead  to  ? '  And  I  could 
find  no  reply  at  all.  The  questions  would  not  wait,  they 
had  to  be  answered  at  once,  and  if  I  did  not  answer  them,  it 
was  impossible  to  live.     But  there  was  no  answer. 

I  felt  that  what  I  had  been  standing  on  had  broken  down, 
and  that  I  had  nothing  left  under  my  feet.  What  I  had 
lived  on,  no  longer  existed  ;  and  I  had  nothing  left  to  live  on. 

My  life  came  to  a  standstill.  I  could  breathe,  eat,  drink 
and  sleep,  and  I  could  not  help  doing  these  things;  but 
there  was  no  life,  for  there  were  no  wishes  the  fulfilment  of 
which  I  could  consider  reasonable.  .  .  .  Had  a  fairy  come 
and  offered  to  fulfil  my  desires,  I  should  not  have  known 

2c 


402  LEO  TOLSTOY 

what  to  ask.  ...  If  in  moments  of  intoxication  I  felt 
something  which  I  cannot  call  a  wish,  but  a  habit  left  by 
former  wishes,  in  sober  moments  I  knew  this  to  be  a 
delusion,  and  that  there  is  really  nothing  to  wish  for.  I 
could  not  even  wish  to  know  the  truth,  for  I  guessed  in 
what  it  consisted.  The  truth  was  that  life  is  meaningless. 
I  had,  as  it  were,  lived,  lived,  and  walked,  walked,  till  I  had 
come  to  a  precipice  and  saw  clearly  that  there  was  nothing 
ahead  of  me  but  destruction.  It  was  impossible  to  stop, 
impossible  to  go  back,  and  impossible  to  close  my  eyes  or 
avoid  seeing  that  there  was  nothing  ahead  but  suffering  and 
real  death — complete  annihilation. 

It  had  come  to  this,  that  I,  a  healthy,  fortunate  man,  felt  I 
could  no  longer  live :  some  irresistible  power  impelled  me  to 
rid  myself  one  way  or  other  of  life.  I  cannot  say  I  wished  to 
kill  myself.  The  power  which  drew  me  away  from  life  was 
stronger,  fuller,  and  more  widespread  than  any  mere  wish. 

The  thought  of  self-destruction  now  came  to  me  as 
naturally  as  thoughts  of  how  to  improve  my  life  had  come 
formerly.  And  it  was  so  seductive  that  I  had  to  be  wily 
with  myself,  lest  I  should  carry  it  out  too  hastily :  '  If  I 
cannot  unravel  matters,  there  will  always  be  time."*  And  it 
was  then  that  I,  a  man  favoured  by  fortune,  hid  a  cord 
from  myself,  lest  I  should  hang  myself  from  the  crosspiece 
of  the  partition  in  my  room,  where  I  undressed  alone  every 
evening ;  and  I  ceased  to  go  out  shooting  with  a  gun,  lest 
I  should  be  tempted  by  so  easy  a  way  of  ending  my  life. 
I  did  not  myself  know  what  I  wanted :  I  feared  life,  desired 
to  escape  from  it;  yet  still  hoped  something  of  it. 

And  all  this  befell  me  at  a  time  when  all  around  me  I 
had  what  is  considered  complete  good  fortune,  I  was  not 
yet  fifty ;  I  had  a  good  wife  who  loved  me  and  whom  I 
loved  ;  good  children,  and  a  large  estate  which  without  much 
effort  on  my  part  improved  and  increased.  I  was  respected 
by  my  relations  and  acquaintances  more  than  at  any  previous 
time.  I  was  praised  by  others,  and  without  much  self- 
deception  could  consider  that  my  name  was  famous.     And 


Tolstoy's  Library. 

(FOK.MERLY   his   STUrJY   ANM)    DRESSING-ROOM.)  SHOWING   THE    WOODEN    CKOSS-flECB 
FROM    WHICH    HE   WISHED    TO    HANG    HIMSELF 


CONFESSION  403 

far  from  being  insane  or  mentally  unwell, — on  the  contrary 
I  enjoyed  a  strength  of  mind  and  body  such  as  I  have 
seldom  met  with  among  men  of  my  kind  :  physically  I 
could  keep  up  with  the  peasants  at  mowing,  and  mentally 
I  could  work  for  eight  to  ten  hours  at  a  stretch  without 
experiencing  any  ill  results  from  such  exertion.  .  .  . 

My  mental  condition  presented  itself  to  me  in  this  way : 
my  life  is  a  stupid  and  spiteful  joke  some  one  has  played 
on  me.  Though  I  did  not  acknowledge  a  '  some  one '  who 
created  me,  yet  that  form  of  representation — that  some  one 
had  played  an  evil  and  stupid  joke  on  me  by  placing  me 
in  the  world — was  the  form  of  expression  that  suggested 
itself  most  naturally  to  me. 

Involuntarily  it  appeared  to  me  that  there,  somewhere, 
is  some  one  who  amuses  himself  by  watching  how  I  live  for 
thirty  or  forty  years :  learning,  developing,  maturing  in 
body  and  mind,  and  how — having  now  with  matured  mental 
powers  reached  the  summit  of  life,  from  which  it  all  lies 
before  me,  I  stand  on  that  summit — like  an  arch-fool — 
seeing  clearly  that  there  is  nothing  in  life,  and  that  there 
has  been  and  will  be  nothing.     And  he  is  amused.  .  .  . 

But  whether  that  'some  one'  laughing  at  me  existed  or  not, 
I  was  none  the  better  off.  I  could  give  no  reasonable  mean- 
ing to  any  single  action,  or  to  my  whole  life.  I  was  only 
surprised  that  I  could  have  avoided  understanding  this  from 
the  very  beginning — it  has  been  so  long  known  to  all.  To- 
day or  to-morrow  sickness  and  death  will  come  (they  have 
come  already)  to  those  I  love  or  to  me ;  nothing  will  remain 
but  stench  and  worms.  Sooner  or  later  my  deeds,  wiiatever 
they  may  have  been,  will  be  forgotten,  and  I  shall  not  exist. 
Then  why  go  on  making  any  effort  ?  .  .  .  How  can  man 
fail  to  see  this?  And  how  go  on  living?  That  is  what  is 
surprising!  One  can  only  live  when  one  is  intoxicated  with 
life ;  as  soon  as  one  is  sober  it  is  impossible  not  to  see  that 
it  is  all  a  mere  fraud  and  a  stupid  fraud  !  That  is  precisely 
what  it  is  :  there  is  nothing  either  amusing  or  witty  about 
it ;  it  is  simply  cruel  and  stupid. 


404  LEO  TOLSTOY 

There  is  an  Eastern  fable,  told  long  ago,  of  a  traveller 
overtaken  on  a  plain  by  an  enraged  beast.  Escaping  from 
the  beast  he  leaps  into  a  dry  well,  but  sees  at  the  bottom  of 
the  well  a  dragon  that  has  opened  its  jaws  to  swallow  him. 
And  the  unfortunate  man,  not  daring  to  climb  out  lest  he 
should  be  destroyed  by  the  enraged  beast,  and  not  daring 
to  leap  to  the  bottom  of  the  well  lest  he  should  be  eaten  by 
the  dragon,  seizes  a  twig  growing  in  a  crack  in  the  well  and 
clings  to  it.  His  hands  are  growing  weaker,  and  he  feels  he 
will  soon  have  to  resign  himself  to  the  destruction  that 
awaits  him  above  or  below ;  but  still  he  clings  on  ;  and  he 
sees  that  two  mice,  a  black  and  a  white  one,  go  regularly 
round  and  round  the  stem  of  the  twig  to  which  he  is 
clinging,  and  gnaw  at  it.  And  soon  the  twig  itself  will 
snap  and  he  will  fall  into  the  dragon's  jaws.  The  traveller 
sees  this  and  knows  that  he  will  inevitably  perish ;  but 
while  still  hanging  he  looks  around  and  finds  some  drops 
of  honey  on  the  leaves  of  the  twig  and  reaches  them  with 
his  tongue  and  licks  them.  So  I  too  clung  to  the  twig  of 
life,  knowing  that  the  dragon  of  death  was  inevitably  await- 
ing me,  ready  to  tear  me  to  pieces ;  and  I  could  not  under- 
stand why  I  had  fallen  into  such  torment.  I  tried  to 
lick  the  honey  which  formerly  consoled  me ;  but  the  honey 
no  longer  gave  me  pleasure,  and  the  white  and  black  mice 
of  day  and  night  gnawed  at  the  branch  by  which  I  hung. 
I  saw  the  dragon  clearly,  and  the  honey  no  longer  tasted 
sw^eet.  And  this  is  not  a  fable,  but  the  real  unanswerable 
truth  intelligible  to  all. 

The  deception  of  the  joys  of  life  which  formerly  allayed 
my  terror  of  the  dragon,  now  no  longer  deceives  me.  No 
matter  how  much  I  may  be  told  :  '  You  cannot  understand 
the  meaning  of  life,  so  do  not  think  about  it,  but  live,' 
I  can  no  longer  do  it :  I  have  already  done  it  too  long. 
I  cannot  now  help  seeing  day  and  night  going  round  and 
bringing  me  to  death.  That  is  all  I  see,  for  that  alone 
is  true.     All  else  is  false. 

The  two  drops  of  honey  which  diverted  my  eyes  from 


CONFESSION  405 

the  cruel  truth  longer  than  the  rest :  my  love  of  family,  and 
of  writing — art  as  I  called  it — were  no  longer  sweet  to  me. 

Family  ,  .  .  said  I  to  myself.  But  my  family  :  wife  and 
children — are  also  human.  They  too  are  placed  as  I  am  : 
they  must  either  live  in  a  lie,  or  see  the  terrible  truth. 
Why  should  they  live  ?  Why  should  I  love  them,  guard 
them,  bring  them  up,  or  watch  them  ?  That  they  may  come 
to  the  despair  that  I  feel,  or  else  be  stupid  .?  Loving  them, 
I  cannot  hide  the  truth  from  them  :  each  step  in  knowledge 
leads  them  to  that  truth.     And  the  truth  is  death. 

'  Art,  poetry  .?'...  Under  the  influence  of  success  and 
the  praise  of  men,  I  had  long  assured  myself  that  this  was 
a  thing  one  could  do  though  death  was  drawing  near — 
death  which  destroys  all  things,  including  my  work  and  its 
remembrance ;  but  I  soon  saw  that  that  too  was  a  fraud. 
It  was  plain  to  me  that  art  is  an  adornment  to  life,  an 
allurement  to  life.  But  life  had  lost  its  attraction  for  me ; 
so  how  could  I  attract  others  ?  As  long  as  I  was  not  living 
my  own  life,  but  was  borne  on  the  waves  of  some  other  life — 
as  long  as  I  believed  that  life  had  a  meaning,  though  one 
I  could  not  express — the  reflection  of  life  in  poetry  and  art 
of  all  kinds,  afforded  me  pleasure :  it  was  pleasant  to  look 
at  life  in  the  mirror  of  art.  But  when  I  began  to  seek  the 
meaning  of  life,  and  felt  the  necessity  of  living  on  my  own 
account,  that  mirror  became  for  me  unnecessary,  superfluous, 
ridiculous,  or  painful.  I  could  no  longer  soothe  myself  with 
what  I  saw  in  the  mirror,  for  what  I  saw  was,  that  my 
position  was  stupid  and  desperate.  It  was  all  very  well  to 
enjoy  the  sight  when  in  the  depth  of  my  soul  I  believed 
that  my  life  had  a  meaning.  Then  the  play  of  lights — 
comic,  tragic,  touching,  beautiful  and  terrible — in  life, 
amused  me.  But  when  I  knew  life  to  be  meaningless  and 
terrible,  the  play  in  the  mirror  could  no  longer  amuse  me. 
No  sweetness  of  honey  could  be  sweet  to  me  when  I  saw 
the  dragon,  and  saw  the  mice  gnawing  away  my  support. 

Nor  was  that  all.  Had  I  simply  understood  that  life  has 
no  meaning,  I  could  have  borne  it  quietly,  knowing  that 


406  LEO  TOLSTOY 

that  was  my  lot.  But  I  could  not  satisfy  myself  with  that. 
Had  I  been  like  a  man  living  in  a  wood  from  which  he 
knows  there  is  no  exit,  I  could  have  lived ;  but  I  was  like 
one  lost  in  a  wood  who,  horrified  at  having  lost  his  way, 
rushes  about,  wishing  to  find  the  road,  yet  knows  that  each 
step  he  takes  confuses  him  more  and  more ;  and  still  can- 
not help  rushing  about. 

It  was  indeed  terrible.  And  to  rid  myself  of  the  terror,  I 
wished  to  kill  myself.  I  experienced  terror  at  what  awaited 
me — knew  that  that  terror  was  even  worse  than  the  position 
I  was  in ;  but  still  I  could  not  patiently  await  the  end. 
However  convincing  the  argument  might  be  that,  in  any 
case,  some  vessel  in  my  heart  would  give  way,  or  something 
would  burst  and  all  would  be  over,  I  could  not  patiently 
await  that  end.  The  horror  of  darkness  was  too  great,  and 
I  wished  to  free  myself  from  it  as  quickly  as  possible  by 
noose  or  bullet.  That  was  the  feeling  which  drew  me  most 
strongly  towards  suicide. 

•  ••••• 

'  But  perhaps  I  have  overlooked  something,  or  misunder- 
stood something  ?  It  cannot  be  that  this  condition  of  de- 
spair is  natural  to  man  ! '  thought  I,  and  as  a  perishing  man 
seeks  safety,  I  sought  some  way  of  escape. 

I  sought  everywhere;  and  thanks  to  a  life  spent  in  learning, 
and  thanks  also  to  the  relations  I  had  with  the  scholarly 
world,  I  had  access  to  scientists  and  scholars  in  all  branches 
of  knowledge,  and  they  readily  showed  me  all  their  know- 
ledge, not  only  in  books,  but  also  in  conversation,  so  that 
I  had  at  my  disposal  all  that  knowledge  has  to  say  on  this 
question  of  life.  .  .  . 

The  question  which  at  the  age  of  fifty  brought  me  to  the 
verge  of  suicide,  was  the  simplest  of  questions  lying  in  the 
soul  of  every  man,  from  the  foolish  child  to  the  wisest  elder : 
it  was  a  question  without  answering  which  one  cannot  live,  as 
I  had  found  by  experience.  It  was,  AVhat  will  come  of  what 
I  am  doing  to-day  or  shall  do  to-morrow — What  will  come 
of  my  whole  life  ? 


CONFESSION  407 

Differently  expressed,  the  question  is  :  Why  should  I  live, 
«7hy  wish  for  anything,  or  do  any  tiling  ?  It  can  also  be  ex- 
pressed thus :  Is  there  any  meaning  in  life,  that  the  inevit- 
able death  awaiting  one,  does  not  destroy  ?  All  human 
knowledge  I  found  divided  into  two  kinds.  One  kind,  such 
as  chemistry  and  mathematics  and  the  exact  sciences,  did 
not  deal  with  my  question.  They  were  interesting,  attrac- 
tive, and  wonderfully  definite,  but  made  no  attempt  to 
solve  the  question ;  while  on  the  other  hand  the  speculative 
sciences,  culminating  in  metaphysics,  dealt  with  the  question, 
but  supplied  no  satisfactory  answer. 

Where  philosophy  does  not  lose  sight  of  the  essential 
question,  its  answer  is  always  one  and  the  same  :  an  answer 
given  by  Socrates,  Schopenhauer,  Solomon  and  Buddha. 

'  We  approach  truth  only  inasmuch  as  we  depart  from 
life,'  said  Socrates  when  preparing  for  death.  '  For  what  do 
we  who  love  truth,  strive  after  in  life  ?  To  free  ourselves 
from  the  body,  and  from  all  the  evil  that  is  caused  by  the 
body  !  If  so,  then  how  can  we  fail  to  be  glad  when  death 
connes  to  us  ? ' 

*  The  wise  man  seeks  death  all  his  life,  and  therefore  does 
not  fear  death.' 

And  Schopenhauer  also  says  that  life  is  an  evil ;  and 
Solomon  (or  whoever  wrote  the  works  attributed  to  him) 
says : 

'  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity.  What  profit  hath  man 
of  all  his  labour  under  the  sun  ?  .  .  .  There  is  no  remem- 
brance of  former  things,  neither  shall  there  be  any  re- 
membrance of  things  that  are  to  come,  with  those  that  shall 
come  after.   .  .  . 

'  Therefore  I  hated  life,  because  the  work  that  is  wrought 
under  the  sun  is  grievous  to  me  ;  for  all  is  vanity  and  vexa- 
tion of  spirit.' 

And  Sakya  Muni  when  he  learnt  what  age  and  sickness 
and  death  are,  could  find  no  consolation  in  life,  and  decided 
that  life  is  the  greatest  of  evils;  and  he  devoted  all  the 
strength  of  his  soul  to  free  himself  from  it,  and  to  free 


408  LEO  TOLSTOY 

others  ;  and  to  do  this  so  that  even  after  death  life  shall  not 
be  renewed  any  more,  but  be  completely  destroyed  at  its 
very  roots.     So  speaks  all  the  wisdom  of  India. 

These  then  are  the  direct  replies  that  human  wisdom 
gives,  when  it  replies  to  the  question  of  life : 

'  The  life  of  the  body  is  an  evil  and  a  lie.  Therefore  the 
destruction  of  the  life  of  the  body  is  a  blessing,  and  we 
should  desire  it,'  says  Socrates. 

'  Life  is  that  which  should  not  be — an  evil ;  and  the 
passage  into  Nothingness  is  the  only  good  in  life,'  says 
Schopenhauer. 

'  All  that  is  in  the  world  :  folly  and  wisdom  and  riches 
and  poverty  and  mirth  and  grief — are  vanity  and  emptiness. 
Man  dies  and  nothing  is  left  of  him.  And  that  is  stupid,' 
says  Solomon. 

'  To  live  in  the  consciousness  of  the  inevitability  of  suffer- 
ing, of  becoming  enfeebled,  of  old  age  and  of  death,  is 
impossible — we  must  free  ourselves  from  life,  from  all  pos- 
sible life,'  says  Buddha. 

And  what  these  strong  minds  said,  has  been  said  and 
thouglit  and  felt  by  millions  upon  millions  of  people  like 
them.     And  I  have  thought  it  and  felt  it. 

One  cannot  deceive  oneself.  It  is  all — vanity  !  Happy  is 
he  who  has  not  been  born  :  death  is  better  than  life,  and  one 
must  free  oneself  from  life. 

Then  I  began  to  consider  the  lives  of  the  men  of  my  own 
kind  ;  and  I  found  that  they  met  the  problem  in  one  or 
other  of  four  ways. 

The  first  way  was  that  of  ignorance.  Some  people — 
mostly  women,  or  very  young  or  very  dull  people — have  not 
yet  understood  the  question  of  life ;  but  I,  having  under- 
stood it,  could  not  again  shut  my  eyes. 

The  second  way  was  that  of  the  Epicureans,  expressed  by 
Solomon  when  he  said :  '  Then  I  commended  mirth,  because 
a  man  hath  no  better  thing  under  the  sun,  than  to  eat,  and 
to  drink,  and  to  be  merry.' 

That  is  the   way  in   which    the  majority   of  people   of 


CONFESSION  409 

our  circle  make  life  possible  for  themselves.  Their  circum- 
stances furnish  them  with  more  of  welfare  than  of  hardship, 
and  their  moral  dullness  makes  it  possible  for  them  to 
forget  that  the  advantage  of  their  position  is  an  accidental 
advantage,  and  that  not  every  one  can  have  a  thousand 
wives  and  a  thousand  palaces  like  Solomon,  and  that  for 
every  man  with  a  thousand  wives  there  are  a  thousand  with- 
out wives,  and  that  for  each  palace  there  are  a  thousand 
people  who  have  to  build  it  in  the  sweat  of  their  brows ;  and 
that  the  accident  that  has  to-day  made  me  a  Solomon,  may 
to-morrow  make  me  Solomon's  slave.  The  dullness  of  these 
people's  imaginations  enables  them  to  forget  what  gave 
no  peace  to  Buddha — the  inevitability  of  sickness,  age  and 
death,  which  to-day  or  to-morrow  will  destroy  all  these 
pleasures.  I  could  not  imitate  these  people :  I  had  not 
their  dullness  of  imagination,  and  I  could  not  artificially 
produce  it  in  myself. 

The  third  escape  is  that  of  strength  and  energy.  It  con- 
sists in  understanding  that  life  is  an  evil  and  an  absurdity, 
and  in  destroying  it.  It  is  a  way  adopted  by  a  few  ex- 
ceptionally strong  and  consistent  people.  I  saw  that  it  was 
the  worthiest  way  of  escape,  and  I  wished  to  adopt  it. 

The  fourth  escape  is  that  of  weakness.  It  consists  in 
seeing  the  truth  of  the  situation,  and  yet  clinging  to  life 
as  though  one  still  hoped  something  from  it ;  and  I  found 
myself  in  that  category. 

To  live  like  Solomon  and  Schopenhauer,  knowing  that  life 
is  a  stupid  joke  played  upon  us,  and  still  to  go  on  living: 
washing  oneself,  dressing,  dining,  talking  and  even  writing 
books,  was  to  me  repulsive  and  tormenting,  but  I  remained 
in  that  position. 

I  now  see  that  if  I  did  not  kill  myself,  it  was  due  to  some 
dim  consciousness  of  the  invalidity  of  my  thoughts.  And 
I  began  to  feel,  rather  than  argue,  in  this  way :  '  I,  my 
reason,  has  acknowledged  life  to  be  unreasonable.  If  there 
be  no  higher  reason  (and  there  is  not :  nothing  can  prove 
that  there  is)  then  reason  is  the  creator  of  life  for  me.     If 


410  LEO  TOLSTOY 

reason  did  not  exist,  there  would  be  for  me  no  life.  How 
can  reason  deny  life,  when  it  is  the  creator  of  life  ?  Or  to 
put  it  the  other  way  :  were  there  no  life,  my  reason  would 
not  exist ;  therefore  reason  is  life's  son.  Life  is  all.  Reason 
is  its  fruit,  yet  reason  denies  life  itself ! '  I  felt  that  there 
was  something  wrong  here. 

Nothing  prevents  our  denying  life  by  suicide.  Well  then, 
kill  yourself,  and  cease  discussing.  If  life  displeases  you, 
kill  yourself!  You  live,  and  cannot  understand  the  meaning 
of  life — then  finish  it ;  and  do  not  fool  about  in  life,  saying 
and  writing  that  you  do  not  understand  it.  You  have  come 
into  good  company,  where  people  are  contented  and  like 
what  they  are  doing :  if  you  find  it  dull  and  repulsive — go 
away ! 

Indeed,  what  are  we  who  are  convinced  of  the  necessity  of 
suicide  yet  do  not  decide  to  commit  it,  but  the  weakest, 
most  inconsistent,  and  to  put  it  plainly,  the  stupidest  of 
men,  fussing  about  with  our  own  stupidity  as  a  fool  fusses 
about  with  a  painted  hussy  ? 

'There  is  something  wrong,'  said  I  to  myself;  but  what 
was  wrong,  I  could  in  no  way  make  out.  It  was  long  before 
the  fog  began  to  clear,  and  I  began  to  be  able  to  restate  my 
position. 

It  had  seemed  to  me  that  the  narrow  circle  of  rich  learned 
and  leisured  people  to  whom  I  belonged,  formed  the  whole 
of  humanity,  and  that  the  milliardr,  of  others  who  have  lived 
and  are  living,  were  cattle  of  some  sort — not  real  people.  .  .  . 
And  it  was  long  before  it  dawned  upon  me  to  ask  :  *  But 
what  meaning  is,  and  has  been,  given  to  their  lives  by  all  the 
milliards  of  common  folk  who  live  and  have  lived  in  the 
world  ?'' 

I  long  lived  in  this  state  of  lunacy,  which  in  fact  if  not  in 
words  is  particularly  characteristic  of  us  Liberal  and  learned 
people.  But  whether  the  strange  physical  affection  I  have 
for  the  real  labouring  people  compelled  me  to  understand 
them  and  to  see  that  they  are  not  so  stupid  as  we  suppose ; 
or  whether  it  was  due  to  the  sincerity  of  my  conviction  that 


CONFESSION  411 

I  could  know  nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  the  best  I  could 
do  was  to  hang  myself,  at  any  rate  I  instinctively  felt  that 
if  I  wished  to  live  and  understand  the  meaning  of  life, 
I  must  seek  this  meaning  not  among  those  who  have  lost 
it  and  wish  to  kill  themselves,  but  among  those  milliards  of 
the  past  and  the  present  who  know  it,  and  who  support 
the  burden  of  their  own  lives  and  of  ours  also. 

And  on  examining  the  matter  I  saw  that  the  milliards  of 
mankind  always  have  had  and  still  have  a  knowledge  of  the 
meaning  of  life,  but  that  knowledge  is  their  faith,  which 
I  could  not  but  reject.  'It  is  God,  one  and  three,  the 
creation  in  six  days,  the  devils  and  angels,  and  all  the  rest 
that  I  cannot  accept  as  long  as  I  retain  my  reason,'  said  I  to 
myself. 

My  position  was  terrible.  I  knew  I  could  find  nothing 
along  the  path  of  reasonable  knowledge,  except  a  denial  of 
life  ;  and  in  faith  I  could  find  nothing  but  a  denial  of  reason, 
still  more  impossible  to  me  than  a  denial  of  life. 

Finally  I  saw  that  my  mistake  lay  in  ever  expecting  an 
examination  of  finite  things  to  supply  a  meaning  to  life. 
The  finite  has  no  ultimate  meaning  apart  from  the  infinite. 
The  two  must  be  linked  together  before  an  answer  to  life's 
problems  can  be  reached. 

It  had  only  appeared  to  me  that  knowledge  gave  a  definite 
answer — Schopenhauer's  answer :  that  life  has  no  meaning, 
and  is  an  evil.  On  examining  the  matter  further,  I  under- 
stood that  the  reply  is  not  positive :  it  was  only  my  feeling 
that  made  it  seem  so.  The  reply,  strictly  expressed  as  the 
Brahmins  and  Solomon  and  Schopenhauer  express  it,  amounts 
only  to  an  indefinite  answer,  like  the  reply  given  in  mathe- 
matics when  instead  of  solving  an  equation  we  find  we 
have  solved  an  identity  :  X  =  X,  or  0  =  0.  The  answer  is, 
that  life  is  nothing.  So  that  philosophic  knowledge  merely 
asserts  that  it  cannot  solve  the  question,  and  the  solution 
remains,  as  far  as  it  is  concerned,  indefinite.  And  I  under- 
stood, further,  that  however  unreasonable  and  monstrous 
might  be  the  replies  given  by  faith,  they  had  this  advantage, 


412  LEO  TOLSTOY 

that  they  introduce  into  each  reply  a  relation  between  the 
finite  and  the  infinite,  without  which  relation  no  reply  is 
possible. 

Whichever  way  I  put  the  question,  that  relation  appeared 
in  the  answer.  How  am  I  to  live  ? — According  to  the  law  of 
God.  What  real  result  will  come  of  my  life? — Eternal 
torment  or  eternal  bliss.  What  meaning  has  life,  that 
death  does  not  destroy  ? — Union  with  the  eternal  God  : 
heaven. 

Faith  still  remained  to  me  as  irrational  as  it  was  before, 
but  I  could  not  but  admit  that  it  alone  gives  mankind  a 
reply  to  the  questions  of  life  ;  and  that  consequently  it  makes 
life  possible. 

Where  there  is  life,  there,  since  man  began,  faith  has 
made  life  possible  for  him ;  and  the  chief  outline  of  that 
faith  is  everywhere  and  always  one  and  the  same.  Faith 
does  not  consist  in  agreeing  with  what  some  one  has  said,  as 
is  usually  supposed  ;  faith  is  a  knowledge  of  the  meaning  of 
human  life  in  consequence  of  which  man  does  not  destroy 
himself,  but  lives.  Faith  is  the  strength  of  life.  If  a  man 
lives  he  believes  in  something.  If  he  does  not  see  and 
recognise  the  visionary  nature  of  the  finite,  then  he 
believes  in  the  finite  ;  if  he  understands  the  visionary  nature 
of  the  finite,  he  must  believe  in  the  infinite.  Without  faith 
he  cannot  live. 

•  •  •  •  t  • 

What  am  I  ? — A  part  of  the  infinite.  In  those  few  words 
lies  the  whole  problem. 

I  began  dimly  to  understand  that  in  the  replies  given  by 
faitli,  is  stored  up  the  deepest  human  wisdom. 

I  understood  this ;  but  it  made  matters  no  better  for  me. 

I  was  now  ready  to  accept  any  faith,  if  only  it  did  not 
demand  of  me  a  direct  denial  of  reason — which  would  be  a 
falsehood.  And  I  studied  Buddhism  and  Mohammedanism 
from  books,  and  most  of  all,  I  studied  Christianity  both  from 
books  and  from  living  people. 

Naturally  I  first  of  all   turned  to  the  Orthodox  of  my 


CONFESSION  413 

circle,  to  people  who  were  learned  :  to  Church  thcolooians, 
the  monks,  to  the  theologians  of  the  newest  shade,  and  even 
to  the  Evangelicals  ^  who  profess  salvation  by  belief  in  the 
Redemption.  And  I  seized  on  these  believers  and  questioned 
them  as  to  their  beliefs,  and  their  understanding  of  the 
meaning  of  life. 

But  in  spite  of  my  readiness  to  make  all  possible  con- 
cessions, I  saw  that  what  they  gave  out  as  their  faith  did 
not  explain  the  meaning  of  life,  but  obscured  it. 

I  remember  the  painful  feeling  of  fear  of  being  thrown 
back  into  my  former  state  of  despair,  after  the  hope  I  often 
and  often  experienced  in  my  intercourse  with  these  people. 

The  more  fully  they  explained  to  me  their  doctrines,  the 
more  clearly  did  I  see  their  error.  ...  It  was  not  that  in 
their  doctrines  they  mixed  many  unnecessary  and  unreason- 
able things  with  the  Christian  truths  that  had  always 
been  near  to  me:  that  was  not  what  repelled  me.  I  was 
repelled  by  the  fact  that  these  people's  lives  were  like  my 
own,  with  only  this  difference — that  such  a  life  did  not 
correspond  to  the  principles  they  expounded  in  their 
teachings. 

No  arguments  could  convince  me  of  the  truth  of  their 
faith.  Only  deeds  which  showed  that  they  saw  a  meaning 
in  life,  which  made  what  was  so  dreadful  to  me — poverty 
sickness  and  death — not  dreadful  to  them,  could  convince 
me.  And  such  deeds  I  did  not  see  among  the  various 
bodies  of  believers  in  our  circle.  On  the  contrary,  I  saw 
such  deeds  done  by  people  of  our  circle  who  were  the 
most  unbelieving,  but  never  by  the  so-called  believers  of  our 
circle.^ 

^  Readers  of  Resurrection  (Book  II,  Chap.  17)  will  remember  the 
vivid  description  of  the  Evangelical  meeting  addressed  by  Kiesewetter,  who 
spoke  in  English.  The  original  from  whom  Tolstoy  drew  Kiesewetter 
was  Baedeker,  a  well-known  Evangelical  preacher  who  lived  in  England, 
but  visited  Russia  frequently. 

*  This  passage  is  the  more  noteworthy  because  it  is  almost  the  only  reference 
(and  even  this  is  indirect)  made  by  Tolstoy  at  this  period  to  the  revolutionary 
or  '  To-the-People '  movement  in  which  so  many  young  men  and  women  were 


414  LEO  TOLSTOY 

And  I  understood  that  the  belief  of  these  people  was  not 
the  faith  I  sought,  and  that  their  faith  is  not  a  real  faith, 
but  an  Epicurean  consolation  in  life. 

And  I  began  to  draw  near  to  the  believers  among  the 
poor  simple  unlettered  folk  :  pilgrims  monks  sectarians  and 
peasants.  Among  them,  too,  I  found  a  great  deal  of  super- 
stition mixed  with  the  Christian  truths ;  but  their  super- 
stitions seemed  a  necessary  and  natural  part  of  their  lives. 
.  .  .  And  I  began  to  look  well  into  the  life  and  faith  of 
these  people,  and  the  more  I  considered  it,  the  more  I 
became  convinced  that  they  have  a  real  faith,  which  is  a 
necessity  to  them  and  alone  gives  their  life  a  meaning  and 
makes  it  possible  for  them  to  live.  ...  In  contrast  with  what 
I  had  seen  in  our  circle,  where  the  whole  of  life  is  passed  in 
idleness  and  amusements  and  dissatisfaction,  I  saw  that  the 
whole  life  of  these  people  was  passed  in  heavy  labour,  and 
that  they  were  content  with  life.  .  .  .  While  we  think  it 
terrible  that  we  have  to  suffer  and  die,  these  folk  live  and 
suffer,  and  approach  death  with  tranquillity,  and  in  most 
cases  gladly. 

And  I  learnt  to  love  these  people.  The  more  I  came  to 
know  their  life  the  more  I  loved  them,  and  the  easier  it 
became  for  me  to  live.  So  I  went  on  for  about  two  years, 
and  a  change  took  place  in  me  whicli  had  long  been  prepar- 
ing, and  the  promise  of  which  had  always  been  in  me.  The 
life  of  our  circle,  the  rich  and  learned,  not  merely  became 
distasteful  to  me  but  lost  all  meaning  for  me;  while  the 
life  of  the  whole  labouring  people,  the  whole  of  mankind 
who  produce  life,  appeared  to  me  in  its  true  light.  I 
understood  that  that  is  life  itself,  and  that  the  meaning 
given  to  that  life  is  true ;  and  I  accepted  it. 

I  then  understood  that  my  answer  to  the  question, '  What 
is  life?'  when  I  said  that  life  is  '  evil,'  was  quite  correct. 

risking  and  sacrificing  hcime,  property,  freedom,  and  life  itself,  from  motives 
which  had  much  in  common  with  his  own  perception  that  the  upper 
layers  of  'Society'  are  parasitic,  and  prey  on  the  vitals  of  the  people  who 
support  them. 


CONFESSION  415 

The  only  mistake  was,  that  that  answer  referred  to  v^y  life, 
but  not  to  life  in  general.  My  life,  a  life  of  indulgence  and 
desires,  was  meaningless  and  evil,  .  .  .  And  I  understood 
the  truth,  which  I  afterwards  found  in  the  Gospels,  that 
men  love  darkness  rather  than  the  light  because  their  deeds 
are  evil;  and  that  to  see  things  as  they  are,  one  must  think 
and  speak  of  the  life  of  humanity,  and  not  of  the  life  of  the 
minority  who  are  parasites  on  life. 

And  indeed,  the  bird  lives  so  that  it  must  fly,  collect  food 
and  build  its  nest ;  and  when  I  see  the  bird  doing  that,  I 
joy  in  its  joy.  The  goat,  hare  and  wolf  live  so  that  they 
must  feed  themselves,  and  propagate  and  feed  their  families, 
and  when  they  do  so,  I  feel  firmly  assured  that  they  are 
happy  and  that  their  life  is  a  reasonable  one.  And  what 
does  man  do  ?  He  should  earn  a  living  as  the  beasts  do, 
but  with  this  difference — that  he  would  perish  if  he  did  it 
alone ;  he  has  to  procure  it  not  for  himself  but  for  all. 
When  he  does  that^  I  have  a  firm  assurance  that  he  is  happy 
and  that  his  life  is  reasonable.  And  what  had  I  done 
during  the  whole  thirty  years  of  my  conscious  life?  I  had 
not  only  not  been  earning  a  living  for  all,  I  had  not  even 
earned  my  own  living.  I  had  lived  as  a  parasite,  and  when 
I  asked  myself  what  use  my  life  was,  I  found  that  my  life 
was  useless.  If  the  meaning  of  human  life  lies  in  support- 
ing it,  how  could  I,  who  for  thirty  years  had  occupied 
myself  not  with  supporting  life  but  with  destroying  it  in 
myself  and  in  others — how  could  I  obtain  any  other  reply 
than  that  my  life  was  senseless  and  an  evil  ?  It  was  both 
senseless  and  evil. 

The  conviction  that  a  knowledge  of  life  can  only  be  found 
by  living,  led  me  to  doubt  the  goodness  of  my  own  life.  .  .  . 
During  that  whole  year,  when  I  was  asking  myself  almost 
every  moment,  whether  I  should  not  end  matters  with  a 
noose  or  a  bullet — all  that  time,  alongside  the  course  of 
thought  and  observation  about  which  I  have  spoken,  my 
heart  was  oppressed  with  a  painful  feeling  which  I  can  only 
describe  as  a  search  for  God. 


416  LEO  TOLSTOY 

I  went  over  in  my  mind  the  arguments  of  Kant  and 
Schopenhauer  showing  the  impossibility  of  proving  the 
existence  of  a  God,  and  I  began  to  refute  them.  Cause, 
said  I  to  myself,  is  not  a  category  such  as  are  Time  and 
Space.  If  I  exist,  there  must  be  some  cause  for  it,  and  a 
cause  of  causes.  And  that  first  cause  of  all,  is  what  men 
have  called  '  God.'  And  as  soon  as  I  acknowledged  that 
there  is  a  force  in  whose  power  I  am,  I  at  once  felt  that  I 
could  live.  But  I  asked  myself:  What  is  that  cause,  that 
force.?  How  am  I  to  think  of  it.''  What  are  my  relations 
to  that  which  I  call  '  God  "* .?  And  only  the  familiar  replies 
occurred  to  me  :  '  He  is  the  Creator  and  Preserver."*  This 
reply  did  not  satisfy  me,  and  I  felt  I  was  losing  within  me 
what  I  needed  for  my  life.  I  became  terrified  and  began  to 
pray  to  him  whom  I  sought,  that  he  should  help  me.  But 
the  more  I  prayed  the  more  apparent  it  became  to  me  that 
he  did  not  hear  me,  and  that  there  was  no  one  to  whom  to 
address  myself.  And  with  despair  in  my  heart  that  there 
is  no  God  at  all,  I  said :  '  Lord,  have  mercy,  save  me  ! 
Lord,  teach  me  !  "*  But  no  one  had  mercy  on  me,  and  I  felt 
that  my  life  was  coming  to  a  standstill. 

But  again  and  again  I  returned  to  the  same  admission 
that  I  could  not  have  come  into  the  world  without  any  cause 
or  reason  or  meaning ;  I  could  not  be  such  a  fledgling  fallen 
from  its  nest  as  I  felt  myself  to  be.  Or,  granting  that  I  be 
such,  lying  on  my  back  in  the  high  grass,  even  then  I  cry 
because  I  know  that  a  mother  has  borne  me  within  her,  lias 
hatched  me,  warmed  me,  fed  me  and  loved  me.  Where  is 
she — that  mother  ?  If  she  has  deserted  me,  who  is  it  that 
has  done  so .?  I  cannot  hide  from  myself  that  some  one 
bore  me,  loving  me.  Who  was  that  some  one  ?  Again 
'God\? 

'  He  exists,''  said  I  to  myself.  And  I  had  only  for  an 
instant  to  admit  that,  and  at  once  life  rose  within  me,  and 
I  felt  the  possibility  and  joy  of  being.  But  again,  from  the 
admission  of  the  existence  of  a  God  I  went  on  to  seek  my 
relations  with  him ;  and  again  I  imagined  tJiat  God — our 


CONFESSION  417 

creator  in  three  persons  who  sent  his  son,  the  Saviour — 
and  again  that  God,  detached  from  the  world  and  from  me, 
melts  like  a  block  of  ice,  melts  before  my  eyes,  and  again 
nothing  remains,  and  again  the  spring  of  life  dries  up 
within  me,  and  I  despair,  and  feel  that  I  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  kill  myself.  And  the  worst  of  all  is,  that  I  feel 
I  cannot  do  it. 

Not  twice  or  three  times,  but  tens  and  hundreds  of  times, 
I  reached  those  conditions  first  of  joy  and  animation, 
and  then  of  despair  and  consciousness  of  the  impossibility 
of  living. 

I  remember  that  it  was  in  early  spring  :  I  was  alone  in 
the  wood  listening  to  its  sounds.  I  listened  and  thought 
ever  of  the  same  thing,  as  I  had  constantly  done  during 
those  last  three  years.     I  was  again  seeking  God. 

'  Very  well,  there  is  no  God,' said  I  to  myself;  'there  is 
no  one  who  is  not  my  imagination  but  a  reality  like  my 
whole  life.  He  does  not  exist,  and  no  miracles  can  prove 
his  existence,  because  the  miracles  would  be  my  perceptions, 
besides  being  irrational."' 

'  But  vay  perception  of  God,  of  him  whom  I  seek,"  asked  I 
of  myself,  '  where  has  that  perception  come  from  ? ""  And 
again  at  this  thought  the  glad  waves  of  life  rose  within  me. 
All  that  was  around  me  came  to  life,  and  received  a  mean- 
ing. But  my  joy  did  not  last  long.  My  mind  continued 
its  work. 

'The  conception  of  God,  is  not  God,'  said  I  to  myself. 
'The  conception,  is  what  takes  place  M'ithin  me.  The  con- 
ception of  God,  is  something  I  can  evoke  or  can  refrain  from 
evoking  in  myself.  That  is  not  what  I  seek.  I  seek  that, 
without  which  there  can  be  no  life."'  And  again  all  around 
me  and  within  me  began  to  die,  and  again  I  wished  to  kill 
myself. 

But  then  I  turned  my  gaze  upon  myself,  on  what  went  on 
within  me,  and  I  remembered  that  I  only  lived  at  those 
times  when  I  believed  in  God.  As  it  was  before,  so  it  was 
now  ;  I   need  only  be  aware  of  God  to  live ;  I  need  only 

2d 


418  LEO  TOLSTOY 

forget  him,  or  disbelieve  in  him,  and  I  die.  .  .  .  '  What 
more  do  you  seek  ? '  exclaimed  a  voice  within  me.  '  This  is 
he.  He  is  that  without  which  one  cannot  live.  To  know 
God  and  to  live  is  one  and  the  same  thing.  God  is  life. 
Live  seeking  God,  and  then  you  will  not  live  without  God."* 
And  more  than  ever  before,  all  within  me  and  around  me 
lit  up,  and  the  light  did  not  again  abandon  me. 

And  I  was  saved  from  suicide.  .  .  .  And  strange  to  say,  the 
strength  of  life  which  returned  to  me  was  not  new,  but  quite 
old — the  same  that  had  borne  me  along  in  my  earliest  days. 

I  quite  returned  to  what  belonged  to  my  earliest  child- 
hood and  youth.  I  returned  to  the  belief  in  that  Will 
which  produced  me,  and  desires  something  of  me.  I 
returned  to  the  belief  that  the  chief  and  only  aim  of  my  life 
is  to  be  better,  i.e.  to  live  in  accord  with  that  Will.  And 
I  returned  to  the  belief  that  I  can  find  the  expression  of 
that  Will,  in  what  humanity,  in  the  distant  past  hidden 
from  me,  has  produced  for  its  guidance  :  that  is  to  say,  I 
returned  to  a  belief  in  God,  in  moral  perfecting,  and  in  a 
tradition  transmitting  the  meaning  of  life.  .  .  . 

I  turned  from  the  life  of  our  circle :  acknowledgincr  that 
theirs  is  not  life  but  only  a  simulacrum  of  life,  and  that  the 
conditions  of  superfluity  in  which  we  live  deprive  us  of  the 
possibility  of  understanding  life.  .  .  .  The  simple  labouring 
people  around  me  were  the  Russian  people,  and  I  turned  to 
them  and  to  the  meaning  which  they  give  to  life.  That 
meaning,  if  one  can  put  it  into  words,  was  the  following. 
Every  man  has  come  into  this  world  by  the  will  of  God. 
And  God  has  so  made  man  that  every  man  can  destroy  his 
soul  or  save  it.  The  aim  of  man  in  life  is  to  save  his  soul ; 
and  to  save  his  soul  he  must  live '  godly j"*  and  to  live  '  godly  ' 
he  must  renounce  all  the  pleasures  of  life,  must  labour, 
humble  himself,  suffer  and  be  merciful.  .  .  ,  The  meaninff 
of  this  was  clear  and  near  to  my  heart.  But  together  with 
this  meaning  of  the  popular  faith  of  our  non-sectarian  folk 
among  whom  I  live,  much  was  inseparably  bound  up  that 
revolted  me  and  seemed  to  me  inexplicable:   sacraments, 


CONFESSION  419 

Church  services,  fasts,  and  the  adoration  of  relics  and  icons. 
The  people  cannot  separat-e  the  one  from  the  other,  nor 
could  I.  And  strange  as  much  of  it  was  to  me,  I  accepted 
everything  ;  and  attended  the  services,  knelt  morning  and 
evening  in  prayer,  fasted,  and  prepared  to  receive  the 
eucharist ;  and  at  first  mv  reason  did  not  resist  anvthinjr. 
What  had  formerly  seemed  to  me  impossible,  did  not  now 
evoke  in  me  any  resistance.  ,  .  . 

I  told  myself  that  the  essence  of  every  faith  consists  in 
its  giving  life  a  meaning  which  death  does  not  destroy. 
Naturally,  for  a  faith  to  be  able  to  reply  to  the  questions 
of  a  king  dying  in  luxury,  of  an  old  slave  tormented  by 
overwork,  and  of  all  sorts  of  people,  young  and  old,  wise 
and  foolish, — its  answers  must  be  exprosed  in  all  sorts  of 
different  ways.  .  .  .  But  this  argument,  justifying  in  mv 
eyes  the  queerness  of  much  on  the  ritual  side  of  religion, 
did  not  suffice  to  allow  me,  in  the  one  great  affair  of  life 
— religion — to  do  things  which  seemed  to  me  questionable. 
With  all  my  soul  I  wished  to  be  in  a  position  to  mino-le 
with  the  people,  fulfilling  the  ritual  side  of  their  rehgion  ; 
but  I  could  not  do  it.  I  felt  that  I  should  lie  to  myself, 
and  mock  at  what  was  sacred  to  me,  were  I  to  do  so.  At 
this  point,  however,  our  new  Russian  theological  writers 
came  to  my  rescue. 

According  to  the  explanation  these  theologians  gave,  the 
fundamental  dogma  of  our  faith  is  the  infallibihty  of  the 
Church.  From  the  admission  of  that  dogma  follows  in- 
evitably the  truth  of  all  that  is  professed  by  the  Church. 
The  Church  as  an  assembly  of  true-believers  united  bv  love, 
and  therefore  possessed  of  true  knowledge,  became  the  basis 
of  my  belief.  I  told  myself  that  divine  truth  cannot  be 
accessible  to  a  separate  individual ;  it  is  revealed  only  to 
the  whole  assembly  of  people  united  by  love.  To  attain 
truth  one  must  not  separate ;  and  not  to  separate,  one  must 
love  and  must  endure  things  one  may  not  agree  with. 

Truth  reveals  itself  to  love,  and  if  you  do  not  submit  to 
the  rites  of  the  Church,  you  transgress  against  love ;  and 


420  LEO  TOLSTOY 

by  transgressing  against  love  you  deprive  yourself  of  the 
possibility  of  recognising  the  truth.  I  did  not  then  see  the 
sophistry  contained  in  this  argument.  I  did  not  see  that 
union  in  love  may  give  the  greatest  love,  but  certainly 
cannot  give  us  divine  truth  expressed  in  the  definite  words 
of  the  Nicene  Creed.  I  also  did  not  perceive  that  love 
cannot  make  a  certain  expression  of  truth  an  obligatory 
condition  of  union.  I  did  not  then  see  these  mistakes  in 
the  argument,  and  thanks  to  it,  was  able  to  accept  and  per- 
form all  the  rites  of  the  Orthodox  Church  without  under- 
standing most  of  them. 

When  fulfilling  the  rites  of  the  Church  I  humbled  my 
reason,  submitted  to  tradition,  united  myself  with  my  fore- 
fathers :  the  father,  mother  and  grandparents  I  loved,  and 
with  all  those  millions  of  the  common  people  whom  I 
respected.  When  rising  before  dawn  for  the  early  Church 
services,  I  knew  I  was  doing  well,  if  onl\'  because  I  was 
sacrificing  my  bodily  ease  to  humble  my  mental  pride,  and 
for  the  sake  of  finding  the  meaning  of  life.  However  in- 
significant these  sacrifices  might  be,  I  made  them  for  the  sake 
of  something  good.  I  fasted,  prepared  for  communion,  and 
observed  the  fixed  hours  of  prayer  at  home  and  in  church. 
During  Church  service  I  attended  to  every  word,  and  gave 
them  a  meaning  whenever  I  could. 

But  this  reading  of  meanings  into  the  rites  had  its 
limits.  ...  If  I  explained  to  myself  the  frequent  repeti- 
tion of  prayers  for  the  Tsar  and  his  relatives,  by  the  fact 
that  they  are  more  exposed  to  temptation  than  other 
people  and  therefore  more  in  need  of  being  prayed  for, 
the  prayers  about  subduing  enemies  and  foes  under  his 
feet  (even  though  one  tried  to  say  that  sin  was  the  foe 
prayed  against)  and  many  other  unintelligible  prayers — 
nearly  two-thirds  of  the  whole  service — either  remained 
quite  incomprehensible  or,  when  I  forced  an  explanation 
into  them,  made  me  feel  that  I  was  lying,  and  thereby 
quite  destroying  my  relation  to  God  and  losing  all  possi- 
bility of  believing.  .  .  . 


CONFESSION  421 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  painful  feeling  I  experienced  the 
day  I  received  the  eucharist  for  the  first  time  after  many 
years.  The  service,  confession  and  prayers  were  quite 
intelligible  and  produced  in  me  a  glad  consciousness  that 
the  meanino:  of  life  was  being  revealed  to  me.  The  com- 
munion  itself  I  explained  as  an  act  performed  in  remem- 
brance of  Christ,  and  indicating  a  purification  from  sin  and 
the  full  acceptance  of  Christ's  teaching.  If  that  explanation 
was  artificial  I  did  not  notice  its  artificiality  :  so  happy  was 
I  at  humbling  and  abasing  myself  before  the  priest — a 
simple  timid  country  clergyman — turning  all  the  dirt  out 
of  my  soul  and  confessing  my  vices,  so  glad  was  I  to  merge 
in  thought  with  the  humility  of  the  Fathers  who  wrote  the 
prayers  of  the  Office,  so  glad  Avas  I  of  union  with  all  who 
have  believed  and  now  believe,  that  I  did  not  notice  the 
artificiality  of  my  explanation.  But  when  I  approached  the 
altar  gates,  and  the  priest  made  me  say  that  I  believed  that 
what  I  was  about  to  swallow  was  truly  flesh  and  blood,  I  felt 
a  pain  in  my  heart :  it  was  not  merely  a  false  note,  it  was  a 
cruel  demand  made  by  some  one  or  other  who  evidently  had 
never  known  what  faith  is. 

I  now  permit  myself  to  say  that  it  was  a  cruel  demand, 
but  I  did  not  then  think  so  :  only  it  was  indescribably 
painful  to  me.  At  the  time,  I  found  in  my  soul  a  feeling 
which  helped  me  to  endure  it.  This  was  the  feeling  of 
self-abasement  and  humility.  I  humbled  myself,  swallowed 
that  flesh  and  blood  without  any  blasphemous  feelings, 
and  with  a  wish  to  believe.  But  the  blow  had  been  struck, 
and  knowing  what  awaited  me,  I  could  not  go  a  second 
time, 

I  continued  to  fulfil  the  rites  of  the  Church  and  still 
believed  that  the  doctrine  I  was  following  contained  the 
truth,  when  something  happened  to  me  which  I  now 
understand  but  which  then  seemed  strange. 

I  was  listening  to  the  conversation  of  an  illiterate  peasant, 
a  pilgrim,  about  God,  faith,  life  and  salvation,  when  a 
knowledge  of  faith  revealed  itself  to  me.     I  drew  near  to 


422  LEO  TOLSTOY 

the  people,  listening  to  their  opinions  on  life  and  faith,  and 
I  understood  the  truth.  So  also  was  it  when  I  read  the  Lives 
of  the  Saints,  which  became  my  favourite  books.  Putting 
aside  the  miracles,  and  regardino^  them  as  fables  illustratinoj 
thoughts,  this  reading  revealed  to  me  life's  meaning.  There 
were  the  lives  of  Makarius  the  Great,  of  the  Tsarevitch 
Joasafa  (the  story  of  Buddha)  and  there  were  the  stories 
of  the  traveller  in  the  well,  and  the  monk  who  found  some 
gold.  There  were  stories  of  the  martyrs,  all  announc- 
ing that  death  does  not  exclude  life ;  and  there  were 
the  stories  of  ignorant,  stupid  men,  and  such  as  knew 
nothing  of  the  teaching  of  the  Church,  but  who  yet  were 
saved. 

But  as  soon  as  I  met  learned  believers,  or  took  up  their 
books,  doubt  of  myself,  dissatisfaction,  and  exasperated 
disputation,  were  roused  within  me,  and  I  felt  that  the  more 
I  entered  into  the  meaning  of  these  men's  speech,  the  more 
I  went  astray  from  truth  and  approached  an  abyss.  How 
often  I  envied  the  peasants  their  illiteracy  and  lack  of 
learning !  Those  statements  in  the  creeds,  which  to  me 
were  evident  absurdities,  for  them  contained  nothing  false. 
Only  to  me,  unhappy  man,  was  it  clear  that  with  truth 
falsehood  was  interwoven  bv  finest  threads,  and  that  I  could 
not  accept  it  in  that  form. 

So  I  lived  for  about  three  years.  At  first,  when  I  did 
not  understand  something,  I  said,  '  It  is  my  fault,  I  am 
sinful';  but  the  more  I  fathomed  the  truth,  the  clearer 
became  the  line  between  what  I  do  not  understand  because 
I  am  not  able  to  understand  it,  and  what  cannot  be  under- 
stood except  by  lying  to  oneself 

In  spite  of  my  doubts  and  sufferings,  I  still  clung  to  the 
Orthodox  Church.  But  questions  of  life  arose  which  had 
to  be  decided ;  and  the  decision  of  these  questions  by  the 
Church,  contrary  to  the  very  bases  of  the  belief  by  which  I 
lived,  obliged  me  at  last  to  own  that  communion  with 
Orthodoxy  is  impossible.  These  questions  were:  first  the 
relation  of  the  Orthodox  Eastern  Church  to  other  Churches 


CONFESSION  423 

— to  the  Catholics  and  to  the  so-called  sectarians.  At  that 
time,  in  consequence  of  my  interest  in  religion,  I  came  into 
touch  with  believers  of  various  faiths :  Catholics,  Protest- 
ants, Old  -  Believers,  Molokans  and  others.  And  I  met 
many  men  of  lofty  morals  who  were  truly  religious.  I 
wished  to  be  a  brother  to  them.  And  what  happened .'' 
That  teaching  which  promised  to  unite  all  in  one  faith  and 
love — that  very  teaching,  in  the  person  of  its  best  repre- 
sentatives, told  me  that  these  men  were  all  living  a  lie ; 
that  what  gave  them  their  power  of  life,  is  a  temptation  of 
the  devil ;  and  that  we  alone  possess  the  only  possible  truth. 
And  I  saw  that  all  who  do  not  profess  an  identical  faith  with 
themselves,  are  considered  by  the  Orthodox  to  be  heretics ; 
just  as  the  Catholics  and  others  consider  the  Orthodox  to 
be  heretics.  And  I  saw  that  the  Orthodox  (though  they 
try  to  hide  this)  regard  with  hostility  all  who  do  not  express 
their  faith  by  the  same  external  symbols  and  words  as  them- 
selves :  and  this  is  naturallv  so  :  first,  because  the  assertion 
that  you  are  in  falsehood  and  I  am  in  truth,  is  the  most 
cruel  thing  one  man  can  say  to  another;  and  secondly, 
because  a  man  loving  his  children  and  brothers  cannot  help 
being  hostile  to  those  who  wish  to  pervert  his  children  and 
brothers  to  a  false  belief.  .  .  .  And  to  me,  who  con- 
sidered that  truth  lay  in  union  by  love,  it  became  self- 
evident  that  the  faith  was  itself  destroying  what  it  ought  to 
produce. 

As  people  of  many  different  religions  behave  to  one 
another  in  this  same  contemptuous,  self-assured  manner — 
the  error  of  such  conduct  was  obvious ;  and  I  thought 
on  the  matter  and  read  all  I  could  about  it,  and  consulted 
all  whom  I  could.  And  no  one  gave  me  any  explanation 
except  the  one  which  causes  the  Soiimsky  Hussars  to  con- 
sider the  Soumsky  Hussars  the  best  regiment  in  the  world, 
and  the  Yellow  Uhlans  to  consider  that  the  best  regiment 
in  the  world  is  the  Yellow  Uhlans.  ...  I  went  to  Archi- 
mandrites, archbishops,  elders,  monks  of  the  strictest  Orders, 
and  asked  them  ;  but  none  of  them  made  any  attempt  to 


424  LEO  TOLSTOY 

explain  the  matter  to  me,  except  one  man,  who  explained 
it  all,  and  explained  it  so  that  I  never  asked  any  one  any 
more  about  it. 

I  asked  him  why  we  should  not  unite  on  those  main 
points  on  which  we  could  agree,  and  leave  the  rest  for  each 
to  decide  as  he  pleases.  My  collocutor  agreed  with  my 
thoughts,  but  told  me  that  such  concessions  would  bring 
reproach  on  the  spiritual  authorities  for  deserting  the  faith 
of  our  forefathers,  and  this  would  produce  a  split ;  and  the 
vocation  of  the  spiritual  authorities  is  to  safeguard  in  all 
its  purity  the  Greco-Russian  Orthodox  faith  inherited  from 
our  forefathers. 

And  I  understood  it  all.  I  am  seeking  a  faith,  the  power 
of  life ;  and  they  are  seeking  the  best  way  to  fulfil  before 
men  certain  human  obligations.  .  .  .  And  I  noticed  what  is 
done  in  the  name  of  religion,  and  was  horrified  ;  and  I  almost 
entirely  abjured  Orthodoxy. 

The  second  relation  of  the  Church  to  a  question  of  life, 
was  with  regard  to  war  and  executions. 

At  that  time  Russia  was  at  war.  And  Russians,  in  the 
name  of  Christian  love,  began  to  kill  their  fellow  -  men. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  think  about  this,  and  not  to  see 
that  killing  is  an  evil,  repugnant  to  the  first  principles  of 
any  faith.  Yet  they  prayed  in  the  churches  for  the  success 
of  our  arms,  and  the  teachers  of  the  faith  acknowledged 
killing  to  be  an  act  resulting  from  the  faith.  And  besides 
the  murders  during  the  war,  I  saw  during  the  disturbances 
which  followed  the  war.  Church  dignitaries  and  teachers  and 
monks  of  the  lesser  and  stricter  Orders,  who  approved  the 
killing  of  helpless  erring  youths.  And  I  took  note  of  all 
that  is  done  by  men  Avho  profess  Christianity,  and  I  was 
horrified. 

And  I  ceased  to  doubt,  and  became  fully  convinced  that 
not  all  was  true  in  the  religion  I  had  joined.  Formerly  I 
should  have  said  that  it  was  all  false ;  but  I  could  not  say 
so  now,  for  I  had  felt  its  truth  and  had  lived  by  it.  But  I 
no  longer  doubted  that  there  is  in  it  much  that  is  false. 


CONFESSION  425 

And  though  among  the  peasants  there  was  less  admixture 
of  what  repelled  me,  still  I  saw  that  in  their  belief  also, 
falsehood  was  mixed  with  the  truth. 

But  where  did  the  truth  and  where  did  the  falsehood 
come  from  ?  Both  the  falsehood  and  the  truth  were  con- 
tained in  the  so-called  holy  tradition  and  Scriptures.  Both 
the  falsehood  and  the  truth  had  been  handed  down  by  what 
is  called  the  Church. 

And  whether  I  liked  to  or  not,  I  was  brought  to  the 
study  and  investigation  of  these  writings  and  traditions — 
which  till  now  I  had  been  so  afraid  to  investigate. 

And  I  turned  to  the  examination  of  that  same  theology 
which  I  had  once  rejected  with  such  contempt.  .  .  .  On  it 
religious  doctrine  rests,  or  at  least  with  it  the  only  know- 
ledge of  the  meaning  of  life  that  I  have  found,  is  insepar- 
ably connected.  ...  I  shall  not  seek  the  explanation  of 
everything.  I  know  that  the  explanation  of  everything, 
like  the  commencement  of  everything,  must  be  concealed 
in  infinity.  But  I  wish  to  understand  in  a  way  which 
will  bring  me  to  what  is  inevitably  inexplicable.  I  wish 
to  recognise  anything  that  is  inexplicable,  as  being  so,  not 
because  the  demands  of  my  reason  are  wrong  (they  are 
right,  and  apart  from  them  I  can  understand  nothing),  but 
because  I  recognise  the  limits  of  my  intellect.  I  wish  to 
understand  in  such  a  way  that  everything  that  is  inexplic- 
able shall  present  itself  to  me  as  being  necessarily  inexplic- 
able, and  not  as  being  something  I  am  under  an  arbitrary 
obligation  to  believe.  I  must  find  what  is  true  and  what 
is  false,  and  must  disentangle  the  one  from  the  other.  I 
am  setting  to  work  upon  this  task.  What  of  falsehood  I 
find  in  the  teaching,  and  what  I  find  of  truth,  and  to  what 
conclusions  I  come,  will  form  the  following  parts  of  this 
work,  which  if  it  be  worth  it,  and  if  any  one  wants  it,  will 
probably  some  day  be  printed  somewhere. 

•  ••••• 

These  closing  words  in  which  Tolstoy  expresses  the  hope 
that  his  work  '  will  probably  some  day  be  printed  some- 


426  LEO  TOLSTOY 

where,'  are  a  reminder  of  the  difficulties  and  dangers  that 
had  to  be  encountered  in  Russia  by  any  man  who  set  out  to 
challenge  the  authority  of  the  Orthodox  Church,  whose 
affairs  were  managed  by  the  Holy  Synod,  presided  over  by  a 
Procurator  able  to  call  on  the  secular  powers  to  enforce  his 
decisions. 


AUTHORITY  FOR  CHAPTER  XI 

Tolstoy's  Ispoved  :  Christchurch,  1901. 

Tolstoy's  Confession  being  prohibited  in  Russia,  had  to  be  printed 
abroad.     The  edition  mentioned  above  is  a  reliable  one. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WORKS  :    1852-1878 

Tolstoy's  first  nineteen  stories.  Stands  in  a  Hue  of  succes- 
sion. Quality  as  writer.  War  and  Peace.  '  Great '  men. 
Napoleon.  The  battles  of  Schongraben  and  Borodino. 
Tolstoy's  influence  on  war-correspondence.  Serfdom.  The 
organisation  of  society.  Characters  in  War  and  Peace.  Its 
range.  Anna  Karenina  :  Matthew  Arnold's  essay.  Transla- 
tions. The  tendency  of  the  book.  Kropotkin's  criticism. 
The  volunteers.  Tolstoy's  attitude  towards  Government. 
W".  D.  Howells's  appreciation.  Tolstoy's  Last  Three  Decades 
of  work  :  the  magnitude  and  nature  of  his  effort. 

Tolstoy"'s  writings  during  the  first  twenty-five  years  of  his 
literary  career  divide  up  into  six  sections. 

First  came  a  series  of  seventeen  stories  and  sketches, 
beginning  with  Childhood  and  ending  with  Family  Happi- 
ness. Next  came  his  series  of  educational  articles  in  the 
Yasnaya  Polydna  magazine.  Third  came  The  Cossacks 
(the  finest  story  he  had  yet  written)  and  Polikoushka. 
Fourth,  came  War  and  Peace.  Fifth,  came  the  ABC  Book, 
the  Readers,  and  another  article  on  Education ;  and  sixth, 
came  Anna  Karenina. 

Leaving  the  educational  works  out  of  account,  the  list 
can  be  reduced  to  nineteen  stories  and  sketches,  followed  bv 
two  great  novels. 

The  nineteen  sketches  and  stories,  '  trials  of  the  pen,'  as 
Tolstoy  called  them,  covered  a  wide  range  of  subjects,  from 
charmingly  realistic  sketches  of  childhood  to  vigorous  de- 
pictions of  Cossack  life,  and  showed  their  writer  to  be  an 
amazingly  accurate  observer  of  physical  facts  and  qualities, 

427 


428  LEO  TOLSTOY 

manners,  tones  and  gestures,  besides  being  possessed  of  a 
yet  more  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  hearts  and  minds  of 
all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  from  the  shamefaced  child 
to  the  officer  dying  on  the  field  of  battle.  He  is  so  con- 
cerned with  the  interest  and  importance  of  life,  that  he  can 
hold  his  reader's  attention  without  having  to  tell  his  stories 
so  that  they  must  be  guessed  like  riddles,  and  he  never 
makes  use  of  elaborate  plots.  He  needs  no  tricks  of  that 
sort.  Nor  does  he  strive  after  effect  by  the  use  of  porno- 
graphic details,  the  introduction  of  extraordinary  events,  or 
the  piling  up  of  many  horrible  details.  His  stories  are  as 
straightforward  as  everyday  life. 

His  great  novels  bear  out  all  the  promise  of  his  short 
stories,  with  the  added  power  of  maturity. 

Though  highly  original  and  of  strong  individuality,  he 
stands  none  the  less  in  the  line  of  succession  of  great  writers 
which  began  with  Poiishkin,  whose  genius  for  simple  sincere 
and  direct  narrative  gave  an  invaluable  direction  to  Russian 
literature,  was  continued  by  Gogol  whose  biting  irony  and 
remorseless  exposure  of  shams  and  hypocrisies  completed 
the  emancipation  from  romanticism,  and  M-as  carried  on  by 
Tourgenef,  whose  art,  conscious  of  and  not  indifferent  to  the 
trend  of  thought  and  feeling  in  the  society  it  describes, 
reached  an  extraordinary  pitch  of  artistic  perfection. 

Tolstoy's  works  have  from  the  first  interested  Russia,  and 
now  interest  the  world,  because  in  greater  measure  than  any 
of  his  predecessors  he  possesses  the  capacity  to  feel  intensely, 
note  accurately,  and  think  deeply.  The  combination  which 
makes  Tolstoy  the  most  interesting  of  writers,  is  the  scientific 
accuracy  of  his  observation  (which  never  allows  him  to  take 
liberties  with  his  characters  or  events  in  order  to  make  out 
a  case  for  the  side  he  sympathises  with)  and  the  fact  that  he 
is  mightily  in  earnest.  Life  to  him  is  important,  and  art  is 
the  handmaid  of  life.  He  wants  to  know  what  is  good  and 
what  is  bad ;  to  help  the  former  and  to  resist  the  latter.  His 
work  tends  to  evolve  order  out  of  life's  chaos  ;  and  as  that  is 
the  most  important  thing  a  man  can  do,  his  books  are  among 


WORKS:  1852-1878  429 

the  most  interesting  and  important  books  of  our  time.  He 
makes  no  pretence  of  standing  aloof,  cutting  off  his  art  from 
his  life,  or  concealing  his  desire  that  kindness  should  prevail 
over  cruelty.  Life  interests  him,  and  therefore  the  reflec- 
tion of  life  interests  him,  and  the  problems  of  art  are  the 
problems  of  life  :  love  and  passion  and  death  and  the  desire 
to  do  right. 

The  chief  subject  reappearing  again  and  again  throughout 
the  stories  he  wrote  before  War  and  Peace,  is  the  mental 
striving  of  a  young  Russian  nobleman  to  free  himself  from 
the  artificial  futilities  of  the  society  in  which  he  was  born, 
and  to  see  and  do  what  is  right.  The  search  is  only  par- 
tially successful.  The  indictment  of  society  is  often  con- 
vincing, but  the  heroes"'  failures  and  perplexities  are  frankly 
admitted.  Sometimes  there  is  no  hero.  In  Sevastopol,  for 
instance,  he  exclaims  :  '  Where  in  this  tale  is  the  evil  shown 
that  should  be  avoided  ?  Where  is  the  good  that  should 
be  imitated  ?  Who  is  the  villain,  who  the  hero  of  the  story  ? 
All  are  good  and  all  are  bad ' ;  and  in  Lucerne  he  says : 
'  Who  will  define  for  me  what  is  freedom,  what  despotism, 
what  civilisation  and  what  barbarism  ?  Or  tell  me  where 
are  the  limits  of  the  one  or  the  other  ?  Who  has  in  his 
soul  so  immovable  a  standard  of  good  and  evil  that  by  it  he 
can  measure  the  passing  facts  of  life  ? ' 

This  searching  for  what  is  good  and  rejecting  what  is  false 
— resulting  in  a  strong  distrust  and  dislike  of  the  predatory 
masterful  domineering  types  of  humanity,  and  in  general 
of  what  has  usuallv  been  regarded  as  the  heroic  type,  and 
also  in  a  friendly  compassion  for  all  that  is  humble  simple 
forbearing  and  sincere — is  the  keynote  of  Tolstoy's  early 
tales.  They  are  studies  of  life,  so  truthful  that  the  char- 
acters seem  to  have  an  independent  life  of  their  own.  They 
speak  for  themselves,  and  at  times,  like  Balaam,  bless  what 
they  were  apparently  expected  to  curse.  For  instance, 
when  Prince  Nehludof  insists  on  bringing  the  wandering 
musician  into  the  Schweizerhof  Hotel  in  Lucertie,  we  feel 
how    uncomfortable    he    thereby    makes   the    poor    singer, 


430  LEO  TOLSTOY 

though  that  is  evidently  not  what  Tolstoy  originally  set  out 
to  make  us  feel. 

War  and  Peace,  besides  being  maturer  than  the  preceding 
tales,  was  composed  during  the  early  years  of  Tolstoy's 
married  life,  when  he  felt  more  content  with  himself  and 
with  life  in  general,  and  when  his  attitude  towards  existing 
things  was  more  tolerant  and  sympathetic  than  it  had  been, 
or  than  it  became  in  later  vears. 

He  told  me  that  in  War  and  Peace  and  Ayina  Karenina 
his  aim  was  simply  to  amuse  his  readers.  I  am  bound  to 
accept  his  statement ;  but  one  has  only  to  read  either  of 
those  books  to  see  that  through  them  Tolstoy's  ardent 
nature  found  vent,  with  all  its  likes  and  dislikes,  strivings, 
yearnings,  hopes  and  fears. 

I  asked  Tolstoy  why  in  WJiat  Is  Art?  he  relegates  these 
great  novels  to  the  realm  of  'bad  art';  and  his  answer 
showed,  as  I  expected  it  would,  that  he  does  not  really  con- 
sider them  at  all  bad,  but  condemns  them  merely  as  being 
too  long,  and  written  in  a  way  chiefly  adapted  to  please 
the  leisured  well-to-do  classes,  who  have  time  for  reading 
novels  in  several  volumes,  because  other  people  do  their 
rough  work  for  them.  Of  War  and  Peace  he  said,  '  It  is, 
one  would  think,  harmless  enough,  but  one  never  knows 
how  things  will  affect  people,'  and  he  went  on  to  mention, 
with  regret,  that  one  of  Professor  Zaharin's  daughters  had 
told  him  that  from  his  novels  she  had  acquired  a  love  of 
balls  and  parties  ;  things  of  which,  at  the  time  of  our  con- 
versation, he  heartily  disapproved. 

In  form.  War  and  Peace  is  unlike  any  English  novel,  but 
it  resembles  Poushkin's  Tlie  Captahi's  Daughter  (though  the 
latter  is  a  much  shorter  story)  in  that  both  works  are 
chronicles  of  Russian  families,  round  whom  the  stories 
centre.  In  War  and  Peace  there  are  two  families,  the 
Rostots  and  the  Bolkdnskys. 

The  mighty  drama  of  the  Napoleonic  advance  from  1S05 
to  1812  comes  into  the  novel,  in  so  far  as  it  affects  the 
members  of  those  two  families.     But  Tolstoy  is  not  content 


WORKS  :  1852-1878  431 

merely  to  tell  us  of  liistoric  events ,  He  introduces  a  whole 
philosophy  of  history,  which  is  sound  at  bottom  though  no 
doubt  he  somewhat  overstates  his  case,  as  is  his  habit. 
The  theory  is  that  the  '  great '  men  of  history  count  for  very 
little.  They  are  the  figureheads  of  forces  that  are  beyond 
their  control.  They  do  most  good  and  least  harm  when, 
like  Koutouzof,  they  are  aware  of  the  true  direction  of  the 
great  human  forces  and  adapt  themselves  to  them ;  but 
then  they  are  modest,  and  the  world  docs  not  esteem  them 
great.  The  typical  case  of  the  impotent  '  great '  man  is 
Napoleon  in  1812,  at  the  time  of  his  invasion  of  Russia. 
He  posed  before  the  world  as  a  man  of  destiny  whose  will 
and  intellect  decided  the  fate  of  empires.  Yet  from  first  to 
last,  during  that  campaign,  he  never  in  the  least  knew  what 
was  about  to  happen.  The  result  was  decided  by  the  spirit 
of  the  Russian  nation,  and  by  its  steadfast  endurance.  Every 
common  Russian  soldier  who  understood  that  the  Russian 
people  dreaded  and  detested  the  thought  of  a  foreign  yoke, 
and  who  therefore  co-operated  with  the  natural  course  of 
events,  did  more  to  further  the  result  than  Napoleon,  that 
'  most  insignificant  tool  of  history,'  as  Tolstoy  calls  him, 
who  even  in  St.  Helena  was  never  able  to  understand  what 
had  caused  his  overthrow. 

The  main  theme  of  the  novel,  if  it  be  permissible  to  select 
a  main  theme  out  of  the  many  latent  in  the  story,  is  Tolstoy's 
favourite  thesis.  He  tacitly  asks :  What  is  good  and  what 
is  bad  ?  With  what  must  we  sympathise  and  what  nuist  we 
reject.''  And  the  reply  is  that  the  predatory,  artificial  and 
insincere  types,  exemplified  historically  by  the  invading 
French,  as  well  as  by  such  characters  among  the  Russians  as 
Ellen,  Anatole  and  Ddlohof,  are  repugnant  to  him,  while 
he  loves  the  humble,  the  meek  and  the  sincere :  Marie  and 
Platon  Karataef,  Natasha  (so  impulsive  and  charming  in  her 
youth,  so  absorbed  in  her  family  later  on),  and  Pierre  (who  is 
often  humble  and  always  sincere,  and  loves  ideas  and  ideals). 

It  is  impossible  to  do  justice  to  this  wonderful  book  in 
any  brief  summary.     It  is  not  a  work  to  be  summed  up  in  a 


432  LEO  TOLSTOY 

few  pages.  It  has  many  characters,  all  of  them  so  dis- 
tinctly drawn  that  we  know  them  better  than  we  know  our 
personal  acquaintances.  It  treats  of  life's  deepest  experi- 
ences from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  ;  and  to  read  it  with 
the  care  it  deserves  is  to  know  life  better  and  see  it  more 
sanely  and  seriously  than  one  ever  did  before.  Some 
foolish  people  think  that  reading  novels  is  a  waste  of  time ; 
but  there  are  hardly  any  books — at  any  rate  hardly  any 
big  books — that  are  better  worth  reading  than  Tolstoy's 
novels. 

He  is  probably  justified  in  claiming  that  his  history  is 
truer  than  the  historians'  history  of  the  battles  of  Schon- 
graben,  Austerlitz,  and  Borodino.  The  historians,  from 
mendacious  military  reports  drawn  up  after  the  action,  try 
to  discover  what  the  Commanders-in-Chief  meant  to  do ; 
and  to  tell  their  story  within  moderate  limits  they  have  to 
systematise  what  was  really  a  huge  disorder  ;  thereby  giving 
their  readers  a  completely  wrong  impression  of  what  a  battle 
is  like. 

N.  N.  Mouravydf,  a  Commander-in-Chief  who  distinguished 
himself  in  more  than  one  war,  declared  he  had  never  read 
a  better  description  of  a  battle  than  Tolstoy's  account  of 
Schongraben  ;  and  added  that  he  was  convinced  from  his 
own  experience  that  during  a  battle  it  is  impossible  to  carry 
out  a  Commander-in-Chiefs  orders. 

Tolstoy,  when  he  wrote  the  book,  was  convinced  that  war 
is  inevitable.  The  idea  that  it  is  man's  duty  to  resist  war 
and  to  refuse  to  take  part  in  it,  came  to  him  later. 

In  an  article  entitled  '  Some  Words  about  War  and 
Peace,''  which  he  wrote  in  1868  for  one  of  the  periodicals, 
he  savs : 

'  Why  did  millions  of  people  kill  one  another,  when  since 
the  foundation  of  the  world  it  has  been  known  that  this  is 
both  physically  and  morally  bad  ? 

'  Because  it  was  so  inevitably  necessary,  that  when  doing 
it  they  fulfilled  the  elemental  zoological  law  bees  fulfil  when 
they  kill  one  another  in  autumn,  and  male  animals  fulfil 


WORKS:  1852-1878  433 

when  they  destroy  one  another.  No  other  reply  can  be 
given  to  that  dreadful  question/ 

Yet  his  inveterate  truthfulness,  and  his  personal  know- 
ledge of  war,  caused  him  to  describe  it  so  exactly,  that  the 
result  is  tantamount  to  a  condemnation.  As  Kropdtkin  says, 
War  and  Peace  is  a  powerful  indictment  of  war.  The  effect 
which  the  great  writer  has  exercised  in  this  direction  upon 
his  generation  can  be  actually  seen  in  Russia.  It  was 
already  apparent  during  the  Russo-Turkish  war  of  1877-8, 
when  it  was  impossible  to  find  in  Russia  a  correspondent 
who  would  have  described  how  '  we  peppered  the  enemy  with 
grape-shot,'  or  how  '  we  knocked  them  down  like  ninepins.' 
If  any  one  could  have  been  found  to  use  in  his  letters  such 
survivals  of  barbarism,  no  paper  would  have  dared  to  print 
them.  The  general  character  of  the  Russian  war-corre- 
spondent had  totally  changed  ;  and  during  that  war  there 
appeared  Garshin  the  novelist,  and  Verestchagin  the  painter, 
'  with  whom  to  combat  war  became  a  life  work.' 

It  has  been  charged  against  War  and  Peace  that  it 
neglects  to  show  the  evil  side  of  serfdom  :  the  brutality, 
the  cruelty,  the  immurement  of  women,  the  flogging  of 
grown-up  sons,  the  torture  of  serf  girls  by  their  mistresses, 
etc.  But  Tolstoy  studied  the  period  closely  fi'om  letters, 
diaries  and  traditions,  especially  from  the  records  of  his 
own  grandparents,  the  Tolstoys  and  the  Volkdnskys ;  and 
he  says  he  did  not  find  horrors  worse  than  are  to  be  found 
now,  or  at  any  other  period.  People  then  loved  and  envied, 
and  sought  for  truth  and  virtue,  and  were  swayed  by 
passions,  as  now.  Their  mental  and  moral  life  was  just  as 
complex,  and  in  the  upper  circles  it  was  sometimes  even 
more  refined  than  now.  .  .  .  No  doubt  the  greater  remote- 
ness of  the  higher  circle  from  tlie  other  classes  gave  a 
special  character  to  the  period,  but  not  the  character  of 
brutal  violence. 

Tolstoy  is  in  sympathy  with  that  time,  sees  the  poetry 
of  it,  and  knows  how  much  of  goodness,  courage,  kindliness 
and  high  aspiration  existed  among  those  politically  uuen- 

2  K 


434  LEO  TOLSTOY 

franchised  serf-owners.  With  our  modern,  Western  desire 
to  organise  society  efficiently^  he  never  has  sympathised.  The 
state  of  a  man's  mind  has  always  been  to  him  more  im- 
portant than  the  conditions  of  his  life,  and  it  seems  to  him 
as  though  there  were  some  antithesis  between  the  two :  as 
though,  if  you  organised  your  society,  it  would  cease  to  think 
truly  or  feel  deeply.  We  in  the  West  are  beginning  to 
believe  the  opposite,  and  to  suspect  that  to  leave  society 
unorganised  or  disorganised  has  an  inevitable  tendency  to 
blunt  our  minds  and  souls.  But  not  the  less  is  it  valu- 
able to  have  so  wonderful  a  picture  of  Russia  as  it  was  at 
the  commencement  of  the  nineteenth  century,  painted  by 
one  who  sees  it  as  the  best  Russians  of  that  period  saw  it 
themselves. 

Of  the  history  part  of  the  book,  it  should  be  noted  that 
Tolstoy  says :  '  Wherever  in  my  novel  historic  characters 
speak  or  act,  I  have  not  invented,  but  have  made  use  of 
materials  which  during  my  work  have  accumulated  till  they 
form  a  whole  library.** 

He  told  me  he  considered  the  defect  of  the  book,  besides 
its  size,  to  be  the  intrusion  of  a  long  philosophic  argument 
into  the  story.  He  still  holds  the  opinions  he  held  when  he 
wrote  it,  as  to  the  influence  or  impotence  of '  great'  men,  as 
well  as  all  that  he  then  said  about  destiny  and  free  will ; 
but  he  now  realises  that  his  novel  would  have  been  a 
better  novel  without  these  abstract  disquisitions. 

The  characters  in  the  book  are  not  strictly  copied  from 
life,  but  in  the  main  Tolstoy's  father's  family  are  represented 
by  the  Rostdfs  and  his  mother's  by  the  Bolkdnskys.  In  the 
magazine  article  already  referied  to,  Tolstoy  says  that  only 
two  minor  characters  are  taken  from  life,  and  'all  the  other 
characters  are  entirely  invented,  and  I  have  not  even  for 
them  any  definite  prototypes  in  tradition  or  in  reality.' 
But  when  he  said  tliat,  he  was  defending  himself  from 
the  charge  of  having  copied  actual  people  who  had  played 
a  part  in  the  society  of  the  time,  and  he  clearly  overstates 
his  case,  for  to  a  considerable  extent  the  characters  in  the 


WORKS:  1852-1878  435 

novel  correspond  to  the  people  mentioned  in  the  following 
list : 

Characters  in  War  arid         Members  of  the  Tolstoy 
Peace  :  or  Volkonsky  Families  : 

The  old  Prince  N.  Bolk6nsky  =  Tolstoy^s  grandfather,  Prince 

N.  Volkdnsky. 
His  daughter,  Princess  Marie  =  Tolstoy's  mother,  the  Prin- 
N.  Bolkdnsky  cess  Marie  N.  Volkdnsky. 

The  old  Count  Ilya  A.  Rostdf=  Tolstoy's  grandfather,  Count 

Ilya  A.  Tolstoy. 
Count  Nicholas  I.  Rostdf        =  Tolstoy's       father.       Count 

Nicholas  I.  Tolstoy. 
Countess  Natalya  Rostdf         =Tatiana      Behrs,      Tolstoy V 

youngest  sister-in-law. 
Sdnya  =Tatiana  A.  firgolsky. 

Ddlohof  is  made  up  of  a  combination  of  Count  Theodore 
Tolstoy,  a  famous  traveller,  with  R.  I.  Ddrohof,  a 
notorious  dare-devil  of  Alexander  I.'s  days. 

Manv  even  of  the  minor  characters,  such  as  Mile. 
Bourienne,  and  Ivanushka  the  woman  pilgrim  in  man's 
clothes,  are  copied  more  or  less  closely  from  people  con- 
nected with  the  Volkdnskys'  home  at  Yasnaya  Polyana. 

Tolstoy's  sympathies  and  antipathies  in  this  novel :  his 
appreciation  of  affection,  kindliness,  simplicity  and  truth- 
fulness, and  his  dislike  of  what  is  cruel,  pompous,  com- 
plicated or  false,  are  the  same  as  in  his  earlier  stories,  but 
mellowed  and  wiser ;  they  are  also  the  same  as  in  his  later 
didactic  writings,  though  there  they  are  formulated,  dog- 
matic and  rigid. 

The  novel  covers  nearly  the  whole  range  of  Tolstoy's 
experience  of  life:  in  it  we  have  the  aristocracy  and  the 
peasants ;  town  life  and  country  life ;  the  Commanders, 
officers  and  privates  of  the  army,  in  action  and  out  of 
action ;  the  diplomatists  and  courtiers ;  flirtation,  love, 
balls,   hunting,  and  a  reform  movement  which  is  all  talk. 


436  LEO  TOLSTOY 

What  Tolstov  does  not  show,  is  what  he  did  not  know — 
the  middle-class  world  :  the  world  of  merchants,  manufac- 
turers, engineers  and  men  of  business.  Of  course  these  in 
Russia  a  hundred  years  ago,  played  a  comparatively  small 
part ;  and  there  was  practically  no  political  activity  such  as 
that  of  our  County  Councils,  Borough  Councils  and  Parlia- 
ment. But  that  all  this  was  absent  from  Tolstoy's  mind, 
and  that  his  outlook  on  life  was  confined  to  the  aristocracy 
which  consumed  and  the  peasantry  which  produced,  will,  in 
the  sequel,  help  us  to  understand  the  social  teaching  to  which 
he  ultimately  came.  His  brother-in-law  tells  us  that  Leo 
Tolstoy  '  has  in  my  presence  confessed  to  being  both  proud 
and  vain.  He  was  a  rampant  aristocrat,  and  though  he 
always  loved  the  country  folk,  he  loved  the  aristocracy  still 
more.  To  the  middle  class  he  was  antipathetic.  When, 
after  his  failures  in  early  life,  he  became  widely  famous  as  a 
writer,  he  used  to  admit  that  it  gave  him  great  pleasure  and 
intense  happiness.  In  his  own  words,  he  was  pleased  to  feel 
that  he  was  both  a  writer  and  a  noble. 

'When  he  heard  of  any  of  his  former  comrades  or  acquaint- 
ances receiving  important  appointments,  his  comments  re- 
minded one  of  those  of  Souvdrof  [a  Field-Marshal  of 
Catherine  the  Great's  time],  who  always  maintained  that 
at  Court  one  receives  promotion  for  cringing  and  flattery, 
but  never  for  good  work.  Sometimes  he  would  ironically 
remark  that,  though  he  had  himself  not  earned  a  General- 
ship in  the  artillery,  he  had  at  any  rate  won  his  Generalship 
in  literature."" 

A  simple  world  of  nobles  and  peasants,  with  little  organ- 
isation, and  that  of  a  poor  kind  :  a  world  the  evils  of  which 
were  mitigated  by  much  kindliness  and  good  intention,  and 
in  which,  on  the  whole,  the  less  the  Government  interfered 
with  anybody  or  anything,  the  better — was  old  Russia  as  it 
existed  under  Alexander  I  and  as  it  still  existed  when 
Tolstoy  was  young.  He  has  described  it  with  extraordinary 
vividness,  and  has  made  it  possible  for  us  to  picture  to  our- 
selves a  country  and  an  age  not  our  own.     What  effect  the 


WORKS:  1852-1878  437 


limitation  of  his  outlook,  referred  to  above,  had  on  the 
subsequent  development  of  his  opinions,  need  not  here  be 
considered.  It  does  not  spoil  the  novel,  for  no  novel  can 
show  us  the  whole  of  life ;  but  it  had  a  verv  serious  effect 
on  the  formulation  of  his  later  philosophy  of  life.  Of 
certain  important  types  of  humanity  he  has  hardly  any 
conception.  Of  the  George  Stephenson  type,  for  instance, 
which  masters  the  brute  forces  of  nature  and  harnesses  them 
to  the  service  of  man — doing  this  primarily  from  love  of 
efficient  work — he  knows  nothing;  nor  does  he  know  any 
thing  of  the  Sidney  Webb  type,  which  sets  itself  the  yet 
more  difficult  task  of  evolving  social  order  out  of  the  partial 
chaos  of  modern  civilisation  ;  or  of  the  best  type  of  organisers 
in  our  great  industrial  undertakings  :  the  men  whose  hearts 
are  set  on  getting  much  work  well  done,  with  little  friction 
and  little  waste,  and  to  whom  the  successful  accomplish- 
ment of  a  difficult  project  gives  more  satisfaction  than  any 
effiartless  acquisition  of  wealth  would  do.  Tolstoy  over- 
simplifies life's  problems.  He  makes  a  sharp  contrast  be- 
tween the  predatory  and  the  humble  types ;  and  there  is  a 
measure  of  truth  in  his  presentation.  He  is  right  that  life 
is  supported  by  the  humble,  and  is  rendered  hard  by  the 
predatory  types;  but  he  has  omitted  from  his  scheme  of 
things  the  man  of  organising  mind :  the  man  who  knows 
how  to  get  his  way,  and  generally  gets  it  (or  a  good  deal  of 
it)  but  does  this  mainly  from  worthy  motives ;  the  man  who 
is  not  perfect,  and  may  take  more  than  is  good  for  him, 
and  may  have  some  of  the  tendencies  of  the  predatory  type, 
but  who  still,  on  the  whole,  is  worth,  and  more  than  worth, 
his  salt,  and  but  for  whom  there  would  be  more  of  chaos 
and  less  of  order  in  the  world.  Tolstoy  has  said  in  one  of 
his  later  writings  that  the  cause  of  the  Russian  famines  is 
the  Greek  Church;  and  he  is  right.  All  that  stupefies,  all 
that  impedes  thought,  tends  to  make  men  inefficient  even  in 
their  agricultural  operations.  But  by  parity  of  reasoning 
he  should  see  that  the  introduction  of  thought  into  methods 
of  production,  distribution  and  exchange,  which  has,  during 


438  LEO  TOLSTOY 

the  last  hundred  and  fifty  years,  so  revolutionised  our  Western 
world,  should  not  be  condemned  as  bad  in  itself,  however 
ugly  many  of  its  manifestations  may  be ;  and  however  often 
we  may  see  the  organising  and  the  predatory  types  exempli- 
fied in  one  and  the  same  person. 

Outside  Russia,  Anna  Karenina  is  perhaps  more  popular 
than  War  and  Peace.  The  former  is  a  long  novel,  but  not 
nearly  as  long  as  the  latter ;  and  though  it  contains  philo- 
sophic disquisitions,  these  fit  better  into  the  story  and  are 
shorter  and  clearer  than  the  philosophic  chapters  in  War 
and  Peace.  In  arrangement,  again,  Anna  Karenina  is  more 
like  the  novels  we  are  accustomed  to,  though  instead  of  one 
hero  and  heroine  it  has  two  pairs  of  lovers,  living  quite 
different  lives,  and  not  very  closely  connected. 

It  deals  with  the  passionate  love  of  a  beautiful  and 
attractive  woman ;  and  it  has  a  further  interest  in  the  fact 
that  Levin,  to  a  greater  degree  than  any  of  the  author"*s  other 
characters,  represents  Tolstoy  himself;  though  Tolstoy 
made  Levin  a  very  simple  fellow  in  order  to  get  a  more 
effective  contrast  between  him  and  the  representatives  of 
high  life  in  Moscow  and  Petersburg, 

Anna  Karenina  had  the  advantage  of  being  introduced  to 
the  English  reading  public  by  Matthew  Arnold  in  an  essay 
which  is  one  of  the  very  best  any  one  has  ever  written 
about  Tolstoy.  It  is  so  good,  and  still  carries  so  much 
weight,  that  I  may  be  excused  for  mentioning  three  points 
on  which  it  seems  to  me  misleading.  First,  Arnold's  ground 
for  preferring  Anna  Karenina  to  War  and  Peace  is  ill  chosen. 
He  says :  '  One  prefers,  I  think,  to  have  the  novelist  dealing 
with  the  life  which  he  knows  from  having  lived  it,  rather 
than  with  the  life  which  he  knows  from  books  or  hearsay. 
If  one  has  to  choose  a  representative  work  of  Thackeray,  it 
is  Vanity  Fair  which  one  would  take  rather  than  The 
Virginians.'' 

This  surely  is  misleading.  War  in  Russia  in  1812  was 
very  similar  to  war  in  Russia  in  1854,  and  the  son  who  had 
fought  in  the  latter  war,  describing  the  war  in  which  his 


WORKS:  1852-1878  439 

father  had  fought,  was  not  at  all  in  the  position  of 
Thackeray  describing  the  life  of  the  Virginians.  Tolstoy 
depicting  the  homes  of  his  parents  and  grandparents,  which 
he  in  part  remembered,  and  which  he  at  any  rate  knew  well 
from  those  who  had  formed  part  of  them,  was  as  close  to 
first-hand  experience  as  he  was  when  describing  the  life  of 
Karenin  the  pedantic  Petersburg  statesman,  who  belonged 
to  a  world  which  was  essentially  foreign  to  Tolstoy,  though 
he  had  occasionally  glanced  at  it. 

But  the  sentence  in  Arnold's  essay  which  has  done  most 
harm,  is  that  in  which  he  speaks  about  translations :  '  I  use 
the  French  translation  ;  in  general,  as  I  long  ago  said,  work 
of  this  kind  is  better  done  in  France  than  in  England,  and 
Anna  Karhiine  is  perhaps  also  a  novel  which  goes  better 
into  French  than  into  English,"* 

It  is  true  enough  that  the  first  English  translations  of 
Tolstoy  were  very  poor,  and  it  is  also  true  that  the  French 
versions,  so  long  as  Tourgenef  attended  to  them,  were 
really  good.  But  Arnold  was  wrong  in  supposing  that 
Anna  Karenina  would  naturally  go  better  into  French 
than  into  English.  Had  he  been  able  to  read  the  original, 
or  had  he  been  acquainted  with  Russian  life,  he  would 
have  seen  that  in  Tolstoy's  novels  there  are  two  sets  of 
people :  a  Court,  Petersburg  set,  who  continually  speak 
French  and  are  Frenchified ;  and  a  plain,  homely,  straight- 
forward Russian  (I  had  almost  said,  English)  set  who  do 
not  use  French  phrases,  and  who  are  sharply  contrasted 
with  the  others.  Tiiis  contrast  can  be  made  quite  clear 
in  an  English  version,  but  it  is  difficult  to  make  it  clear  in 
a  version  where  even  the  most  Russian  characters  have  to 
speak  French.  The  case  is  worse  than  that,  however : 
Arnold  did  not  say,  as  he  fairly  might  have  said,  that  up 
to  his  time  the  French  versions  were  better  than  the 
English ;  he  speaks  as  though  it  were  in  the  nature  of 
things  that  any  translation  into  French  must  be  better 
than  any  possible  translation  into  English.  A  prejudice  of 
that  kind  tends  to  divert  attention  from  the  fact  that  some 


440  LEO  TOLSTOY 

French  translations  are  bad,  and  some  English  translations 
are  good.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  since  Arnold's  time  the  posi* 
tion  has  been  largely  reversed.  When  staying  at  Yasnaya 
Polyana  in  1902,  I  heard  Tolstoy  express  considerable  dis- 
satisfaction with  the  new  collected  French  edition  of  his 
works,  the  first  volumes  of  which  had  then  recently  appeared, 
while  he  commended  some  recent  English  versions,  including 
work  done  by  Mrs.  Garnett  and  by  my  wife. 

A  grave  error,  again,  is  made  by  Arnold  in  speaking  of 
Tolstoy''s  later  life,  where  he  says  that  he  '  earns  his  bread 
by  the  labour  of  his  own  hands.'  Tolstoy  never  did  that,  and 
never  claimed  to  have  done  it ;  though  it  is  extraordinary 
how  often  and  how  confidently  the  statement  has  been 
repeated.  It  is  a  matter  however  which  need  not  detain  us, 
for  it  does  not  relate  to  the  period  with  which  this  volume 
deals. 

Arnold's  summary  of  the  story  of  the  novel  is  excellent, 
but  I  can  here  only  quote  one  more  passage  from  his  essay. 
'  We  have,'  he  says,  '  been  in  a  world  which  misconducts 
itself  nearly  as  much  as  the  world  of  a  French  novel  all 
palpitating  with  "  modernity."  But  there  are  two  things 
in  which  the  Russian  novel — Count  Tolstoi's  novel  at  any 
rate — is  very  advantageously  distinguished  from  the  type 
of  novel  now  so  much  in  request  in  France.  In  the  first 
place,  there  is  no  fine  sentiment,  at  once  tiresome  and  false. 
We  are  not  told  to  believe,  for  example,  that  Anna  is 
wonderfully  exalted  and  ennobled  by  her  passion  for  Vrdnsky. 
The  English  reader  is  thus  saved  from  many  a  groan  of 
impatience.  The  other  thing  is  yet  more  important.  Our 
Russian  novelist  deals  abundantly  with  criminal  passion  and 
with  adultery,  but  he  does  not  seem  to  feel  himself  owing 
any  service  to  the  goddess  Lubricity,  or  bound  to  put  in 
touches  at  this  goddess's  dictation.  Much  in  Anna  Karenine 
is  painful,  much  is  unpleasant,  but  nothing  is  of  a  nature  to 
trouble  the  senses,  or  to  please  those  who  wish  their  senses 
troubled.     This  taint  is  wholly  absent.' 

W.  D.  Howe]  Is,  who  has  stood  sponsor  for  Tolstoy  in 


WORKS:  1852-1878  441 

America  as  Matthew  Arnold  has  done  in  England,  similarly 
says :  '  It  is  Tolstoy's  humanity  which  is  the  grace  beyond 
the  reach  of  art  in  his  imaginative  work.  It  does  not  reach 
merely  the  poor  and  the  suffering;  it  extends  to  the 
prosperous  and  the  proud,  and  does  not  deny  itself  to  the 
guilty.  There  had  been  many  stories  of  adultery  before 
Anna  Karenina,  nearly  all  the  great  novels  outside  of 
English  are  framed  upon  that  argument,  but  in  Anjia 
Karinina^  for  the  first  time  the  whole  truth  was  told  about 
it.  Tolstoy  has  said  of  the  fiction  of  Maupassant  that  the 
whole  truth  can  never  be  immoral ;  and  in  his  own  work  I 
have  felt  that  it  could  never  be  anything  but  moral.'' 

Tolstoy  never  fears  to  deal  with  the  real  problems  of  life, 
and  never  fears  to  call  a  spade  a  spade ;  but  he  also  never 
panders  to  the  animal  passions.  In  a  letter  relating  to 
Resurrection  he  remarked :  '  When  I  read  a  book,  what 
chiefly  interests  me  is  the  Weltanschanuvg  des  Autors :  what 
he  likes  and  what  he  hates.  And  I  hope  that  any  one  who 
reads  my  book  with  that  in  view  will  find  out  what  the 
author  likes  and  dislikes,  and  will  be  influenced  by  the 
author's  feelings.'  What  is  important  is  not  the  subject 
treated  of,  but  the  feeling  the  author  imparts  when  dealing 
with  it. 

Arnold,  it  is  true,  is  rather  shocked  that  Anna  should 
yield  so  quickly  and  easily  to  the  persuasions  of  Vrdnsky. 
He  is  quite  sure  that  she  ought  to  have  resisted.  But  here 
we  come  to  a  matter  on  which  many  Russians  disapprove  of 
Tolstoy  on  quite  the  opposite  ground.  Kropdtkin  in  his 
interesting  work  Ideals  and  Realities  in  Russian  Literature, 
has  stated  their  case  very  clearly,  and  this  is  the  substance 
of  what  he  savs  : 

Anna  Kai'inina  produced  in  Russia  an  impression  which 
brought  Tolstoy  congratulations  from  the  reactionary  camp 
and  a  very  cool  reception  from  the  advanced  portion  of 
society.  The  fact  is  that  the  question  of  marriage  and  of 
the  separation  of  husband  and  wife,  had  been  most  earnestly 
debated  in  Russia  by  the  best  men  and   women,  both  in 


442  LEO  TOLSTOY 

literature  and  in  life.  Levity  towards  marriage  such  as  is 
continually  unveiled  in  the  Divorce  Courts,  was  decidedly 
condemned,  as  also  was  any  form  of  deceit  such  as  supplies 
the  subject  for  countless  French  novels  and  plays.  But 
after  levity  and  deceit  had  been  condemned,  the  right  of  a 
new  love — appearing  perhaps  after  years  of  happy  married 
life  —  was  seriously  considered,  Tchernyshevsky's  novel, 
What  Is  To  Be  Done  ?  may  be  taken  as  the  best  expression 
of  the  opinions  on  marriage  which  became  current  among 
the  better  portion  of  the  young  generation.  Once  married, 
it  was  said,  don't  take  lightly  to  love  affairs  or  flirtation. 
Not  every  fit  of  passion  deserves  the  name  of  a  new  love ; 
and  wliat  is  called  love  is  often  merely  temporary  desire. 
Even  if  it  be  real,  before  it  has  grown  deep  there  is 
generally  time  to  reflect  on  the  consequences  that  would 
result  were  it  allowed  to  grow.  But  when  all  is  said  and 
done,  there  are  cases  when  a  new  love  does  come,  and  comes 
almost  inevitably :  as  for  instance  when  a  girl  has  been 
married  almost  against  her  will  under  the  continued  in- 
sistence of  her  lover,  or  when  the  two  have  married  without 
properly  understanding  one  another,  or  when  one  of  the 
two  has  continued  to  progress  towards  an  ideal,  while  the 
other,  after  having  worn  the  mask  of  idealism,  falls  back 
into  the  Philistine  happiness  of  warmed  slippers.  In  such 
cases  separation  not  only  becomes  inevitable,  but  is  often  to 
the  interest  of  both.  It  would  be  better  for  both  to  live 
through  the  suffering  a  separation  involves  (honest  natures 
are  improved  by  such  suffering)  than  to  spoil  the  entire 
subsequent  life  of  one — or  both  in  most  cases — and  to  face 
the  evil  consequences  which  living  together  under  such 
circumstances  would  be  sure  to  produce  on  the  children. 
That  at  any  rate  was  the  conclusion  to  which,  both  in 
literature  and  in  life,  the  best  portion  of  Russian  society 
came. 

And  into  the  society  Kropdtkin  describes  in  the  above 
statement,  comes  Tolstoy  with  Anna  Karenina.  The 
epigraph  of  the  book  is  '  Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,' 


WORKS:  1852-1878  443 

and  death  by  suicide  is  the  fate  of  poor  Anna,  who  was 
married  young  to  an  old  and  unattractive  man,  and  who 
had  never  known  love  till  she  met  Vrdnsky.  Deceit  was 
not  in  her  nature.  To  maintain  a  conventional  ma,rriage 
would  not  have  made  her  husband  or  child  happier. 
Separation  and  a  new  life  with  Vrdnsky,  who  seriously  loved 
her,  was  the  only  possible  outcome.  At  any  rate,  continues 
Krop(5tkin,  if  the  story  of  Anna  Kareniiia  had  to  end  in 
tragedy,  it  was  not  in  consequence  of  an  act  of  supreme 
justice.  The  artistic  genius  of  Tolstoy,  honest  here  as 
everywhere,  itself  indicated  the  real  cause,  in  the  incon- 
sistency  of  Vrdnsky  and  Anna.  After  leaving  her  husband 
and  defying  public  opinion — that  is,  as  Tolstoy  shows,  the 
opinion  of  women  not  honest  enough  to  have  a  right  to  a 
voice  in  the  matter  —  neither  she  nor  Vrdnsky  had  the 
courao-e  to  break  rig-ht  away  from  that  society,  the  futility 
of  which  Tolstoy  describes  so  exquisitely.  Instead  of  that, 
when  Anna  returns  with  Vrdnsky  to  Petersburg,  their  chief 
preoccupation  is,  how  Betsy  and  other  such  women  will 
receive  her  if  she  reappears  among  them  ?  '  And  it  was  the 
opinion  of  the  Betsies — surely  not  Superhuman  Justice — 
which  brought  Anna  to  suicide.' 

W^hether  Matthew^  Arnold's  view  or  Kropdtkin's  view  be 
accepted,  Tolstoy  at  any  rate  does  full  justice  to  Anna's 
charm  :  '  her  large,  fresh,  rich,  generous,  delightful  nature 
which  keeps  our  sympathy '  and  even  our  respect ;  there  is 
no  nonsense  about  her  being  a  degraded  or  vile  person. 
And  after  all,  Tolstoy's  view  of  marriage  sanctity  is  a  very 
old  and  a  very  widely  held  one;  and  it  is  surely  good  to 
have  that  side  of  the  case  put  so  artistically,  so  persuasively, 
so  well,  as  he  puts  it.  If  ultimately  the  idea  that  two 
uncongenial  people  ought  to  live  out  their  lives  together 
because  they  have  married,  has  to  be  abandoned,  let  it  not 
be  abandoned  without  the  very  best  advocates  being  heai'd 
on  its  behalf. 

Anna  Karenina  contains  passages  :  the  ball,  the  officers' 
steeplechase,  the  mowing,  the  death  of  Levin's  brother,  and 


444  LEO  TOLSTOY 

others,  which  for  artistic  beauty  are  unsurpassed  and,  one  is 
tempted  to  add,  unsurpassable.  It  also,  towards  the  end, 
contains  in  admirably  concise  form  much  of  what  Tolstoy 
has  told  in  his  Confession^  of  his  quest  after  the  meaning  of 
life,  his  thoughts  of  suicide,  and  how  he  learnt  from  a 
talk  with  a  peasant  that  man  should  live  for  his  soul  and 
for  God. 

His  treatment  in  this  novel  of  the  Russian  volunteers  who 
went  to  fight  for  Servia,  was  as  bold  a  slap  in  the  face  to 
the  Russian  jingoes,  who  were  having  things  all  their  own 
way  at  that  time,  as  Campbell  Bannerman's  '  methods  of 
barbarism'  speech,  or  Sir  E.  Clarke's  declaration  that  the 
reassertion  of  England's  claim  to  suzerainty  in  the  internal 
affairs  of  the  Transvaal,  was  '  a  breach  of  national  faith,' 
was  to  our  jingoes  at  the  time  of  the  Boer  war;  but  it  is 
curious  to  note  the  precise  position  that  (speaking  through 
the  mouth  of  Levin)  Tolstoy  took  up.  He  did  not  say 
that  Russia  ought  not  to  fight  to  free  the  Christian 
populations  of  Turkey ;  he  merely  said  that  no  individual 
Russian  had  any  business  to  volunteer  for  the  Servian  or 
Bulgarian  army,  or  to  take  any  action  to  urge  the  Russian 
Government  towards  war. 

Of  Levin  we  are  told :  '  He,  like  Mihaylitch  and  the 
peasants,  whose  feelings  are  expressed  in  the  legendary  story 
of  the  invitation  sent  to  the  Varyagi  by  the  early  inhabi- 
tants of  Russia,  said  :  "  Come  and  be  princes  and  rule  over 
us.  We  gladly  promise  coinplete  submission.  All  labour, 
all  humiliations,  all  saci-ifices  we  take  on  ourselves,  but  we 
do  not  judge  or  decide.'''' '  And  Levin  goes  on  to  repudiate 
the  idea  that  the  Russian  people  have  '  now  renounced  this 
privilege  [the  privilege,  that  is,  of  not  taking  any  part  in 
Government]  bought  at  so  costly  a  price.' 

The  connection  between  the  roots  of  Tolstoy's  opinions 
— manifested  in  these  writings  of  his  first  fifty  years — and 
his  opinions  in  their  ultimate  rigid  and  dogmatic  form,  as 
expressed  during  the  last  three  decades,  is  in  general  so 
close,  the  dogmas  of  the  later  period  grew  so  naturally  out 


WORKS:  1852-1878  445 

of  the  sympathies  and  experiences  of  the  earlier  time,  that 
this  point — at  which  there  is  a  clean  line  of  cleavage  (the 
difference  between  obeying  Government  and  disobeying  it) 
— is  worthy  of  particular  note.  When  finishing  Anna 
Karenina  Tolstoy  had  not  yet  reached  the  conclusion  that 
all  Governments  employing  force  are  immoral ;  but  his  later 
teachings  are  dominated  by  that  view. 

Apart  from  the  special  points  I  have  referred  to,  the 
general  effect  and  influence  of  Tolstoy's  fiction  can  hardly 
be  summed  up  better  than  they  have  been  summed  up  by 
W.  D.  Howells,  who  says : 

'  Up  to  his  time  fiction  had  been  a  part  of  the  pride  of 
life,  and  had  been  governed  by  the  criterions  of  the  world 
which  it  amused.  But  Tolstoy  replaced  the  artistic  con- 
science by  the  human  conscience.  Great  as  my  wonder  was 
at  the  truth  in  his  work,  my  wonder  at  the  love  in  it  was 
greater  yet.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  I  found  the  most 
faithful  picture  of  life  set  in  the  light  of  that  human  con- 
science which  I  had  falsely  taught  myself  was  to  be  ignored 
in  questions  of  art,  as  something  inadequate  and  inappro- 
priate. In  the  august  presence  of  the  masterpieces,  I  had 
been  afraid  and  ashamed  of  the  highest  interests  of  my 
nature  as  something  philistine  and  provincial.  But  here 
I  stood  in  the  presence  of  a  master,  who  told  me  not  to  be 
ashamed  of  them,  but  to  judge  his  work  by  them,  since  he 
had  himself  wrought  in  honour  of  them.  I  found  the  tests 
of  conduct  which  I  had  used  in  secret  with  myself,  a})plied 
as  the  rules  of  universal  justice,  condemning  and  acquitting 
in  motive  and  action,  and  admitting  none  of  those  lawyer's 
pleas  which  baffle  our  own  consciousness  of  right  and  wrong. 
Often  in  Tolstoy's  ethics  I  feel  a  hardness,  almost  an  arro- 
gance (the  word  says  too  much) ;  but  in  his  esthetics  I  have 
never  felt  this.  He  has  transmuted  the  atmosphere  of 
a  realm  hitherto  supposed  unmoral  into  the  very  air  of 
heaven.  I  found  nowhere  in  his  work  those  base  and  cruel 
lies  which  cheat  us  into  the  belief  that  wrong  may  some- 
times  be   right   through   passion,   or   genius,   or   heroism* 


446  LEO  TOLSTOY 

There  was  everywhere  the  grave  noble  face  of  the  truth 
that  had  looked  me  in  the  eyes  all  my  life,  and  that  I  knew 
I  must  confront  when  I  came  to  die.  But  there  was  some- 
thing more  than  this,  infinitely  more.  There  was  that  love 
which  is  before  even  the  truth,  without  which  there  is  no 
truth,  and  which  if  there  is  any  last  day,  must  appear  the 
Divine  justice.  .  .  . 

'  As  I  have  already  more  than  once  said,  his  ethics  and 
esthetics  are  inseparably  at  one;  and  that  is  what  gives  a 
vital  warmth  to  all  his  art.  It  is  never  that  heartless  skill 
which  exists  for  its  o\vn  sake,  and  is  content  to  dazzle  with 
the  brilliancy  of  its  triumphs.  It  seeks  always  the  truth,  in 
the  love  to  which  alone  the  truth  unveils  itself  If  Tol- 
stoy is  the  greatest  imaginative  writer  who  ever 
lived,  it  is  because,  beyond  all  others,  he  has 
written  in  the  spirit  of  kindness,  and  not  denied 
his  own  personal  complicity  with  his  art. 

'As  for  the  scope  of  his  work,  it  would  not  be  easy  to 
measure  it,  for  it  seems  to  include  all  motives  and  actions, 
in  good  and  bad,  in  high  and  low,  and  not  to  leave  life  un- 
touched at  any  point  as  it  shows  itself  in  his  vast  Russian 
world.  Its  chief  themes  are  the  old  themes  of  art  always, — 
they  are  love,  passion,  death,  but  they  are  treated  with  such 
a  sincerity,  such  a  simplicity,  that  they  seem  almost  new  to 
art,  and  as  effectively  his  as  if  they  had  not  been  touched 
before.  .  .  . 

'  Passion,  we  have  to  learn  from  the  great  master,  who  here 
as  everywhere  humbles  himself  to  the  truth,  has  in  it  life 
and  death  ;  but  of  itself  it  is  something,  only  as  a  condition 
precedent  to  these ;  without  it  neither  can  be ;  but  it  is  lost 
in  their  importance,  and  is  strictly  subordinate  to  their  laws. 
It  has  never  been  more  charmingly  and  reverently  studied 
in  its  beautiful  and  noble  phases  than  it  is  in  Tolstoy's 
fiction  ;  though  he  has  always  dealt  with  it  so  sincerely,  so 
seriously.  As  to  its  obscure  and  ugly  and  selfish  phases,  he 
is  so  far  above  all  others  who  have  written  of  it,  that  he 
alone   seems  truly  to   have   divined   it,  or  portrayed   it  as 


WORKS  :  1852-1878  447 

experience  knows  it.  He  never  tries  to  lift  it  out  of  nature 
in  either  case,  but  leaves  it  more  visibly  and  palpably  a  part 
of  the  lowest  as  well  as  the  highest  humanity.  .  .  . 

*  He  comes  nearer  unriddling  life  for  us  than  any  other 
writer.  He  persuades  us  that  it  cannot  possibly  give  us  any 
personal  happiness;  that  there  is  no  room  for  the  selfish  joy 
of  any  one  except  as  it  displaces  the  joy  of  some  other,  but 
that  for  unselfish  joy  there  is  infinite  place  and  occasion. 
With  the  same  key  he  unlocks  the  mystery  of  death  ;  and 
he  imagines  so  strenuously  that  death  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  transport  of  self-surrender  that  he  convinces  the 
reason  where  there  can  be  no  proof.  The  reader  will  not 
have  forgotten  how  in  those  last  moments  of  earth  which  he 
has  depicted,  it  is  this  utter  giving  up  which  is  made  to 
appear  the  first  moment  of  heaven.  Nothing  in  his  mastery 
is  so  wonderful  as  his  power  upon  us  in  the  scenes  of  the 
borderland  where  his  vision  seems  to  pierce  the  confines  of 
another  world." 

Tolstoy  of  the  later  phase,  the  last  three  decades,  with 
which  the  second  volume  of  this  work  will  deal,  differed 
from  the  Tolstoy  of  the  first  fifty  years;  but  the  later 
Tolstoy  grew  out  of  the  earlier,  as  the  branches  of  a  tree 
grow  from  its  roots. 

The  difference  lay  chiefly  in  this :  that  from  about  the 
year  1878  Tolstoy  became  sure  of  himself,  succeeded  in  for- 
mulating his  outlook  on  life,  and  proceeded  to  examine  and 
pass  judgment  on  all  the  main  phases  of  human  thought  and 
activity.  His  work  was  sometimes  hasty  and  often  harsh;  he 
painted  in  black  and  white,  subjects  really  composed  of  many 
shades  of  colours ;  but  what  other  man  has  even  attempted 
so  to  examine,  to  portray,  and  to  tell  the  frank  truth  about 
all  the  greatest  problems  of  life  and  death  ? 

No  one  really  concerned  to  leave  the  world  better  than  he 
found  it — be  his  line  of  work  what  it  may — can  afford  to 
ignore  what  Tolstov  has  said  on  his  subject. 

No  such  combination  of  intellectual  and  artistic  force  has 


448  LEO  TOLSTOY 

in  our  times  provoked  the  attention  of  mankind.  No  one 
has  so  stimulated  thought,  or  so  successfully  challenged 
established  opinions.  Tolstoy  has  altered  the  outlook  on 
life  of  many  men  in  many  lands,  and  has  caused  some 
to  alter  not  their  ideas  merely,  but  the  settled  habits  and 
customs  of  their  lives.  Only  those  who  neither  know 
nor  understand  him  at  all,  ever  question  his  sincerity. 

Those  who  have  spoken  scornfully  of  him  are  those  who 
have  not  taken  the  trouble  to  understand  him.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  small  minority  who  swallow  his  opinions 
whole,  do  so  under  the  hypnotic  influence  of  his  force, 
fervour  and  genius.  To  analyse  his  opinions,  and  dis- 
entangle what  in  them  is  true  from  what  is  false,  is 
a  task  no  one  has  yet  adequately  performed,  but  for 
which  the  time  is  ripe,  and  which,  bold  as  the  under- 
taking may  be,  I  mean  to  attempt. 

Tolstoy's  marvellous  artistic  power,  his  sincerity,  and  the 
love  that  is  so  strong  a  feature  of  his  work,  have  often  been 
dwelt  upon ;  but  what  really  gives  him  his  supreme  import- 
ance as  a  literary  force  is  the  union  of  all  these  things  : 
artistic  capacity,  sincerity  and  love,  with  a  quite  extra- 
ordinary power  of  intellect. 

It  is  not  given  to  any  man  to  solve  all  the  problems  of 
life;  but  no  one  has  made  so  bold  and  interesting  an 
attempt  to  do  so  as  Tolstoy,  or  has  striven  so  hard  to 
make  his  solutions  plain  to  every  child  of  man. 


CHIEF  AUTHORITIES  FOR  CHAPTER  XII 

The  literature  that  has  grown  up  both  in  Russia  and  elsewhere 
round  Tolstoy's  earlier  writings  is  so  voluminous,  that  I  can  merely 
indicate  a  few  of  the  best  known  works. 

In  English  we  have  : 

Matthew  Arnold's  essay :  Count  Leo  Tolstoi  in  Essays  in  Criticism, 
Second  Series  :  Macmillan  and  Co.,  London. 


WORKS:  1852-1878  449 

W.  D.  Howellshas  written  several  very  readable  and  excellent  essays 
on  Tolstoy.  I  have  unfortunately  mislaid  my  note  of  them.  If  any 
American  admirer  of  W.  D.  Howells  will  supply  me  with  a  list^  I  shall 
be  glad  to  include  it  in  any  future  edition  of  this  work. 

P.  Kropotkin's  Ideals  and  Realities  in  Russian  Literature  gives  a  very 
good  idea  of  Tolstoy's  general  influence  and  relation  to  Russian  life 
and  literature  generally. 

In  Russian  : 

Mihaylovsky's  articles  in  his  collected  works  are  interesting. 

N.  Strahof's  Krititcheskiya  Statyi  o  Tourgeneve  i  Tolstom,  Petersburg, 
1895,  is  excellent. 

V.  Zelinsky's  Rousskaya  Krititcheskaya  Literatoura  o  proizvedeniyakh 
L.  N.  Tolstovo  (7  vols.)  reprints  a  large  collection  of  Russian  criti- 
cisms on  Tolstoy's  works. 

D.  S.  Merezhkovsky's  Zhizn  i  tvortchestvo  L.  N.  Tolstovo  i  Dosto- 
yevskavo  contains  some  acute  literary  criticism,  but  for  all  that  relates 
to  Tolstoy  as  a  man,  it  is  worse  than  useless.  Merezhkovsky  did  not 
know  Tolstoy  personally  when  he  wrote  about  him.  He  relied  on  the 
works  of  Behrs  and  Anna  Seuron,  and  even  that  scrappy  information 
he  used  unfairly.  His  talk  about  scents  and  fine  linen,  and  in  general 
his  whole  characterisation  of  Tolstoy,  is  spiteful,  and  to  those  v/ho 
know  the  man  attacked^  it  is  merely  ridiculous. 


2f 


CHRONOLOGY 

As  in  the  text,  dates  are  given  old  style,  except  those  relating  to 
the  Crimean  War  and  to  Tolstoy's  travels  abroad. 

1645      Peter  Tolstoy  born. 
1725      Peter  Tolstoy  made  a  Count. 
1727     Exiled. 
1729      Died. 

1814      Count  Nicholas  Tolstoy  captured  by  French. 
1822      Marriage  of  Tolstoy's  parents, 
1828  (28  Aug.  o.s.)  Birth  of  Leo  Tolstoy. 
1830      Death  of  Leo  Tolstoy's  mother. 
1837      Death    of  father   and    grandmother.       Return    to 
Yasnaya  Polyana. 

1840  Famine  Year. 

1841  Death   of  the   Countess    Osten-Saken.      Move   to 

Kazan. 
1844     Matriculates  at  Kazd,n  University. 

1847  Leaves  the  University. 

1848  Passes  two  examinations  at  Petersburg  University. 

1849  Starts  Peasant  Children's  School  at  Yasnaya. 

1851  20  April     Leaves  Yasnaya  for  Caucasus. 

„  Aug.  Goes  on  expedition  from  Starogladovsk. 

„  Nov.  At  Tiflis ;   writing  CJuldhood. 

„  Dec.  (end)  Appointed  Junker. 

1852  Jan.  Sado's  friendship. 

,,  Feb.      Goes  on  expedition. 

„  2  July     Finishes  Childhood. 

„  28  Aug.      Receives  letter  from  Nekrasof  accepting 

Childhood. 

450 


>5 


CHRONOLOGY  451 

1852  Nov.  Childhood  a.^pea.TS  in  Contemporary. 
24  Dec.  The  Raid  finished. 

1853  Jan.  Serves  against  Shamyl. 
18  Feb.  Nearly  killed  by  grenade. 

March      The  Raid  appears  in  Conteinporary. 

13  June      Chased  by  Tartars. 
July  to  Oct,      Stays  at  Pyatigorsk. 

Oct.      War  between  Russia  and  Turkey. 

1854  Jan.     Receives  his  commission. 
2  Feb.      Revisits  Yasnaya  Polyana. 

End  of  Feb.  Starts  for  Bucharest. 

March  War  :    England    and    France    against 
Russia. 

„  „  Tolstoy  reaches  Bucharest. 

„       June  (end)  Siege  of  Silistria  abandoned. 

Aug.  Tolstoy  leaves  Bucharest  for  Russia 

1 4  Sept.  Allies  land  in  Crimea. 
Oct.  Boylwod  appears  in  Contemporary. 

17  Oct.  Bombardment  of  Sevastopol. 

Nov.  (end)  Tolstoy  reaches  Sevastopol. 

Dec.  Stationed  at  Simferopol. 

1855  Jan.  Memoirs   of  a   Billiard  Marker  pub- 

lished. 
„  13  April  to  27  May       Serves    in    Sevastopol,    in 

Fourth  Bastion. 
„  June      Sevastopol  in  December  published. 

„  Aug.      Sevastopol  in  May  published. 

„  16  Aug.      In  Battle  of  Tchernaya. 

„  Sept.      The  Wood-Felling  published. 

8  Sept.      Malahof  captured  by  French.     Sevas- 
topol abandoned  by  Russians. 
Sept.      Tolstoy  returns  to  Petersburg. 

1856  Jan.      Sevastopol  in  Aii gust  \i\x\)\\&\\ed. 
Jan.  (end)     Death  of  Demetrius  Tolstoy. 

March      Russia  concludes  peace  with  England, 
France,  and  Turkey. 


»> 
»> 
»» 

»» 

M 


»» 


)» 


»» 
»> 


452 


LEO  TOLSTOY 


1856 

March 

9i 

May 

»» 

Summer 

» 

Nov. 

>» 

26  Nov. 

» 

Dec. 

9» 

Dec. 

1857 

Jan. 

„     lOFeb.  (n.s.) 

j» 

April 

»» 

July 

j> 

Aug. 

?» 

Sept. 

1858 

Jan. 

» 

March. 

j> 

Aug. 

J5 

Sept. 

ii 

22  Dec. 

1859 

Jan. 

5> 

4  Feb. 

»» 

April 

>' 

Winter 

1860 

15  July 

» 

5J 

„  July 

and  Aug. 

j> 

20  Sept. 

j> 

Winter. 

1861 

Jan. 

» 

Feb. 

»♦ 

6  May 

TTie  Snow  Storm  published. 

Two  Hussars  published. 

Engagement  with  V.  V.  A. 

Grand  Duke  Michael  displeased  about 

Soldiers'  Song. 
Tolstoy  leaves  the  army. 
Meeting    a   Moscozv    Acquaintance   in 

the  Detachment  published. 
A  Squire''s  Morning  published. 
Youth  published. 
Leaves  Moscow  for  Paris. 
Visits  Switzerland. 
Stays  at  Lucerne. 
Returns  to  Yasnaya  Poly^na. 

Lucerne  published. 

Writes  Three  Deaths. 
Visits    Petersburg.     Helps    to    found 
Moscow  Musical  Society. 

Albert  published. 

Signs  Resolution  of  Nobles  concern- 
ing Emancipation. 

Nearly  killed  by  bear. 

Thj-ee  Deaths  published. 

Speaks  on  Art  to  Society  of  Lovers 
of  Russian  Literature. 

Family  Happiness  published. 

Organises  School  at  Yasnaya. 

Leaves  Petersburg  for  Berlin. 

Visits  Auerbach  in  Dresden. 

At  Kissingen  for  his  health. 

Nicholas  Tolstoy  dies  at  Hyeres. 

Visits      Florence,      Rome,      Na])les, 
Marseilles. 

Revisits  Paris. 

Visits  London. 

Re-enters  Russia. 


n 


n 


»» 


CHRONOLOGY  453 

1861  26  May     Challenges  Tourg^nef. 

„  Commences  work  as  Arbiter  of  the 

Peace. 
1861-2       Winter     Occupied  with  his  school. 

1862  Feb.     Ydsnaya    Polydna     magazine     ap- 
pears. 

May      Discharged  from   office  of  Arbiter  of 
the    Peace    '  on    ground     of    ill- 
health.' 
May  and     Takes  koumys  cure  in  Samdra  Govern- 
June  ment. 

Police  raid  on  Ydsnaya  Polydna. 

Proposes  to  Miss  S.  A.  Behrs. 

Marries. 

Minister    of    Interior   disapproves    of 

Ydsnaya  Polyana  magazine. 
School  abandoned. 
The  Cossacks  published. 
PoUkoushka  published. 
Eldest  son,  Sergius,  bom. 
War  and  Peace  commenced. 
Dislocates  arm  while  hunting. 
Collected      edition       of      Tolstoy  "*s 
works  published. 
„  4  Oct.     Birth  of  daughter,  Tati^na. 

1865  Jan.  and  Feb.     First  part  of  War  and  Peace  pub- 

lished. 
„  Autumn     Visits  battlefield  of  Borodino. 

1866  May     Second  son,  Ilya,  born. 

„  June    Defends  soldier  at  court-martial. 

1867  Summer     Treated  by  Zaharin  for  indigestion. 

1868  Publication  of   War  and  Peace   con- 

tinued. 

1869  20  May     Third  son,  Leo,  born. 

„  Nov.     War  and  Peace  completed. 

1869-70  Studies  the  drama. 

1870-1  Winter     Studies  Greek. 


»» 

17  Sept. 

J» 

23     „ 

» 

3  Oct. 

)9 

15     „ 

163 

Jan. 

jj 

Feb. 

?9 

28  June 

Sept. 

» 

»» 

it 


99 

Feb. 

>» 

13  June 

» 

Sept. 

»» 

Nov. 

1872-3 

Winter 

J» 


454  LEO  TOLSTOY 

1871  Works  at  ABC  Book. 
12  Feb.     Birth  of  daughter,  Mary. 

June-July     Koumj^s  cure  in  Samara. 

1872  Jan.     Re-starts  school. 

A  Prisoner  in  tiie  Caucasus  pub- 
lished. 

God  Sees  the  Truth  published. 

Son,  Peter,  born. 

Confined  to  Yasnaya  by  Investi- 
gating Magistrate. 

ABC  Book  published. 

Prepares  to  write  novel  of  Peter 
the  Great's  time. 

1873  May     Goes  vi^ith  family  to  Samdra. 
17  Aug.    Samdra  Famine;  Tolstoy's  appeal. 

Kramskdy  paints  his  portrait. 
Death  of  son,  Peter. 
Speaks  on  Learning  to  Read. 
Son,  Nicholas,  born. 
Death  of  Aunt  Tatidna. 
Publishes  article,  On  Popular  Edu- 
cation. 

1875  20  Feb.       Death  of  son,  Nicholas. 

New  ABC  Book  published. 

Jan.-April    First  Instalment  of  Anna  Karenina 
published. 
Summer     Horse  races  at  Samara. 
1  Nov.     Baby  daughter,  Varv^ra,  born  and 
died. 
Dec.     Death  of  Pelageya  I.  U shkof. 

1876  Jan.-April  and     Further  instalments  of  Anna  Kare- 

Dec.  nina. 

Observes  Church  rites  and  fasts. 
Sept.     Visit  to  Samara  and  Orenbourg. 

1877  Jan.-April    Final  instalments  of  Anna  Kare- 

nina published. 
„  Rupture  with  Katkdf. 


n 

Sept. 

»» 

9  Nov. 

1874 

15  Jan. 

» 

22  April 

»> 

20  June 

>» 

Sept. 

» 
»» 


1» 


CHRONOLOGY  455 

1877  6  Dec.     Son,  Andrew,  born. 

1878  March     Visits  Petropdvlof  Fortress. 

Abandons  The  Decembrists. 
,,  May     Reconciliation  with  Tourg^nef. 

„        7  Aug.     Tourgenef  at  Ydsnaya  Tolyana. 


INDEX 


ABC  Book,  339,  341,  342,  344-348,  359, 

360. 

Tourg^nef's  comment  on,  347. 

Active  service,   military,  86,   99,   110, 

119. 
Aim  when  writing  novels,  430. 
Aksdkof,  S.  T.,  175,  310. 
Albert,  52,  166. 

Alexander  II,  Tsar,  ISO,  287,  379. 
Alexandra  Fedorovna,  Empress,  111. 
Alex^yef,  V.  G.,  395,  396. 
Alexis,  Tolstoy's  servant,  32,  111,  284, 

285. 

Tsarevitch,  2,  349, 

Algebra,  355. 

Ambrose,  Father,  384. 

Anarchism,  peaceful,  58,  139. 

Ancestr}',  1-7,  14. 

Animals,  kindness  to,  28,  307. 

Anna  Knr^nina,  289,  349,    357,    360, 

361,  371,  372,  381,  438-445. 

characters  in,  289,  349. 

impression  produced  in  Kussia  by, 

441. 


Matthew  Arnold's  comments  on, 
438-440. 

W.    D.    Howells'  comments  on. 


440,  441,  445-447. 

Krop6tkin's  comments   on,    441- 


443. 


Tourg^nef  s  comments  on,  361. 


Ant  Brotherhood,  18,  19. 
Appearance,  personal,  7,  26,  64. 
Arbiter    of    the    Peace,  211,  226-229, 

283. 
Arboiizof's  Recollections,  370. 
Arithmetic  in  ABC  Book,  341,  359. 
Arm  dislocated,  302,  303. 
Army,  enters  the,  65,  76. 

leaves,  152. 

becomes  an  oflpicer  in,  91. 

Arnold,  Matthew  :  comments  on  Anna 

KaHnina,  438-440. 
Art,    talk   with  peasant    boys    about, 

257,  258. 
thoughts  on,   186,  275-277,  296, 

333,  377,  405. 

what  is  it  ?  260. 

Artistic  capacity  of  peasants,  275. 
element  in  Literature,  speech  or. 

the,  185. 
Artists,  Tolstoy's  criticism  of,  163,  164. 


Astronomy,  studies,  341. 

Auerbach,  B.,  194,  212. 

Aunt  Tatiana.     See  Tatidna. 

Austria's  pressure  on  Russia,  97. 

Authors,  Tolstoy's  criticism  of  the,  162- 
165. 

Autobiographical,  10,  14,  17,  18,  20, 
21,  24,  26,  28,  31,  34,  39-50,  53,  54, 
59-77,  81-84,  89,  90,  95-104,  106-111, 
128,  130,  148,  150,  152,  153-155,  160, 
161,  162,  167-173,  175,  177-180,  182, 
189,  192,  198,  200,  202,  212,  214,  224, 
228,  252,  254,  263,  269,  272,  282-284, 
286,  288,  291,  293,  294,  296,  298,  300, 
303,  304,  325-327,  333,  337,  359,  365, 
383,  and  whole  of  chap.  xi. 

BiEDEKKR,  preacher,  413. 
Bdntchina  explained,  225. 
Baryatinsky,  General,  65. 
Bashkirs,  Tolstoy  and  the,  335-337. 
Bastion,   the  Fourth,    110,    113,  ll4, 

117. 
Bastions,  clears  Fifth  and  Sixth,  121. 

See  also  Sevastopol. 
Bear  Hunt,  The,  342. 
Bear-hunt,  a,  183-185. 
Bee-keeping,  296. 
Beethoven,    comment    on,    276,    377- 

378. 
Behrs  family,  the,  149,  284,  288,  290. 
Miss  S.  A.    See  Tolstoy,  Countess 

S.  A. 
S.  A.  (hrother-in-law),  297,   332, 

335,  390. 
comments  on  Tolstoy  by,  324, 

387,  390,  436. 
Tanya  (Tanitchka ;  sister-in-law), 

305. 
Belbek,  transferred  to,  110,  111. 
Beliefs,  religious,  38-39,  162,  chap.  xi. 
Berlin,  in,  193,  194. 
Bible,  the,  263-267. 
Billiards,  Chinese,  284. 
Birth,  Tolstoy's,  9. 
Boarding  schools  condemned,  235. 
Bolk6nskvs,    the    ( War   and   Peace), 

434,  435. 
Books  for  the  people,  263,  267,  277, 

339. 
that  influenced  Tolstoy,  31,  44, 

45,  160. 

467 


458 


LEO  TOLSTOY 


Borodin6,  visit  to  battlefield  of,  30G. 
B6tkiD,  V.  P.,  161, 168,  174,  316. 

's  comment  on  War  and  Peace,  315. 

's  criticism  of  Tolstoy,  223. 

Boiilka  (dog),  88,  89. 

Boutlerof,  A.  M.,  Professor,  383. 

Boyhood,  31,  91. 

Tolstoy's  criticism  of,  160. 

Bravery,  64. 
Bucharest,  iu,  95,  96. 
Buckle,  criticism  of,  240. 
Buddha,  on  Life,  407,  409. 
Buddhism,  study  of,  412. 
Bulgarian  insurrection,  379. 
Bull  kills  keeper,  345. 

Captain's  Daughter,  The,  161,  430. 

Cards.     See  Gambling. 

Caucasus,  in  the  (see  chap.  iii.). 

descriptions  of  the,  61-63. 

fighting  in  the,  61,  87. 

Censor,  the,  86,  131,  132. 

Charity,  216. 

Chastity,  advocacy  of,  13. 

Chess,  77,  119,  193,  389. 

Chevet's  system  of  Music,  167,  271. 

Childhood,  22,  26,  65,  83,  86. 

Tolstoy's  criticism  of,  160. 

Children,  Tolstoy's,  295,  303,  310,  317, 
320,  331,  340,  344,  352,  357,  360,  363, 
366,  385. 

education  of,  317-320,  366,  385. 

governesses,  318,  366. 

punishments  of,  318,  319. 

and  the  servants,  318. 

taught  music,  366. 

painting,  366. 

teach  in  peasant  schools,  340. 

Tolstoy's  tact  with,  204,  205,  206, 

307. 

toys,  318. 

Christian  and  Greek  ideals,  332,  333. 

Christianity,  study  of,  412. 

Christ's  Hospital,  education  at,  279. 

Church,  the  Orthodox,  39,  40,  413, 
419,  420,  424,  437. 

Church  ceremonial,  343,  369. 

Clarens,  at,  168,  170. 

Coat  of  arms,  2. 

Collates  Artillery  Commanders'  re- 
ports, 121. 

Colony,  agricultural,  in  Kansas,  396. 

Communion,  Tolstoy  takes,  290,  421. 

Composition,  how  to  teach,  272,  275. 

Comte,  396,  397. 

Confession,  Tolstoy's,  24,  39,  40,  53, 
162-165,  167,  202,  203,  282-284,  298, 
391,  394.     (See  also  chap,  xi.) 

Consumptive  tendencies,  156,  284. 

Contemporary,  The,  83,  138,  148,  182, 
354. 

Contributori  to,  138,  139,  142. 


Contradict,  readiness  to,  143. 
Conversion,  394,  398. 
Copperfield,  David,  44,  45,  90. 
Corporal  punishment,  13,  14,  26. 
Cossacks,   The,  78,  79,  189,  284,  295, 

296. 
Cossacks,  The,  Tourgenef's  comment  on, 

296,  393. 
Cossacks,  78-80. 

Count,  origin  of  Tolstoy's  title,  2. 
Country  life,  love  of,  308. 
Courier  to  Petersburg,  122. 
Court-martial,  310-312. 
Crimean  War,  chap.  iv. 
cause  of,  94. 

Daily  routine,  320. 
Dates,  Russian,  9. 
Death,  thoughts  on,  342. 

first  experience  of,  23,  24. 

Death  of  baby  girl,  366. 

baby  Nicholas,  360, 

Botkin,  V.  P.,  316. 

Demetrius  Tolstoy,  44,  147. 

Father  and  Grandmother,  23, 

24. 

keeper  by  bull,  345. 

Nicholas  Tolstoy,  197-203. 

Peter,  baby,  352. 

Tatiana  A.  Ergolsky,  358-359. 

See  also  Tatid'p.a. 

P.  I.  Ushkof,  369.     See  also 


l^shkof. 

Debts,  48,  49,  53,  55,  71,  72,  284. 
Decembrists,  The,  145,  299,  386. 
Decembrists,  the,  14,  386. 
Defiance  of  accepted  opinions,  140. 
Demetrius  Tolstoy.      See  Tolstoy,  De- 
metrius. 
Democratic    government,    advantages 

of,  144. 
Democratic  institutions,  scorn  for,  145. 
Dentists,  208. 
Diary,  37,  53,  81,  83, 148, 161, 167. 172, 

173,  187,  189,  200,  212,  220,  228,  285, 

286,  288,  289,  290,  309. 
Dickens's  influence  on  Tolstoy,  46. 
Diesterweg,  educationalist,  213. 
Digestive  troubles,  293. 
Dijon,  at,  166. 
Dissipation,  52,  92,  97,  127,  140,  161, 

162. 
Divorce  question,  the,  441-443. 
Doctors,  dislike  of,  313,  369. 
Documents,  careleBsness  with,  51,  65, 

85. 
Dogs,  his,  88. 
Dostoyevsky,  S.  A.,  84. 
Drama,  Tolstoy  and  the,  297,  326,  327- 
Drawing,  310. 

lessons,  269,  270. 

Dreeden,  in,  194. 


INDEX 


459 


Dress,  elegance  in,  35,  173. 

simplicity,  309. 

Drouzhiuin,  A.  V.,  148,  156,  157,  158, 
168. 

criticises  Tolstoy's  style,  159. 

criticises  Youth,  158. 

letter  from,  190. 

Duel,  a.     See  Tourginef. 
Dumas  pire,  as  novelist,  208. 

educational  influence,  207. 

Dyakof,  D.  A.,  37,  306,  321. 

Education,  230-239.     See  also  School. 

at  Christ's  Hospital,  279. 

criticism  of,  232,  233. 

definition  of,  231 . 

evening  lectures,  194. 

false  bases  of,  232. 

speech  on,  353. 

Tolstoy's,  28. 

children's,  317-320,  366,  385. 

Tolstoy's  method  of,  278,  353. 

the  right  to  reject,  235. 

Zemstvo  Committee  of,  356. 


Educational  systems,  Tolstoy  studies  : 

in  England,  194,  210. 

Kissingen,  195. 

Marseilles,  206,  207. 

Saxony,  194. 

Weimar,  212. 

system   in    Germany,   criticised, 

233. 

work,   Tolstoy  on  his  own,   282, 

283. 
Emancipation  of  the  serfs,  180-182,  226, 

299. 

Tolstoy's  attitude  towards,  223- 

225. 

Engagement  with  V.  V.  A.,  150-155. 

Epicureans  and  life,  408. 

:^pitaph,  an,  382. 

Ergolsky,  T.  A.     See  Tatidna,  Aunt. 

Estate  buying,  300,  337,  359. 

management,  306,  323,  345. 

searched,  285-288. 

Eucharist,  Tolstoy  receives  the,  290, 

419. 
Eugene  Baumann,  194. 
Evangelicals,  the,  413. 
Examinations,  Tolstoy's,  33,  34,  35,  49, 

50,  65. 
Execution,  an,  167,  312. 
Executions,  the  Church  and,  424. 
Exercise,  physical,  84,  128,  173,  308, 

367.    See  also  Oymnastics. 

Fabm,  an  Eastern,  404. 

Fame,  thoughts  on,  129,  183,  401. 

Family  Happiness,  185. 

Famines  caused  b}'  the  Church,  437. 

Famine  Fund,  Samiira,  350,  351. 

Famines,  30,  304,  350. 


Farming,  179,  192,  294,  296,  304. 

Fasts,  Tolstoy,  419. 

Fatherland  Journal,  The,  152,354,355. 

Father  Sergius,  384. 

Faust  (Tourgenef's),  156. 

Fedka,  literary  genius  of,  272-274. 

walk  with,  a,  254-260. 

Fet,  A.  A.,  139,  141,  176,  215,  219,  222, 
304,  312,  321,  322,  330. 

letters  to,  from  Tolstoy,  179,  180, 

182,  188,  192,  200,  214,  217,  291,  293, 
300,  303,  312,  315,  32.5,  326,  330,  331, 
333,  337,  342,  344,  351,  352,  359,  360, 
361,  365,  366,  371,  372,  373,  374,  380, 
381,  382,  383,  385,  386,  387,  388,  391, 
392. 

in  rhyme  to,  347. 


—  Literary  Evening  in  aid  of  Famine 
Fund,  314. 
's  poems,  Tolstoy's  admiration  of. 


374. 


•  Tolstoy'scriticiam  of,  322,  387, 391. 
visits  Tolstoy,  293-295,  314. 


Fet,  Peter  A.,  373. 

First  Step,  The,  209. 

'  Flock  for  the  shepherd,  a,'  234. 

Fly,  attempts  to,  25. 

Folk-Songs  and  Tales,  376-378,  384. 

Fort  Grozny,  at,  86. 

Fourth  Bastion,  in  the,  110-117. 

Franco-Prussian  "War,  330,  331. 

Freedom  of  Russian  nobles,  55. 

French  language,  the,  176. 

people,  the,  207,  331. 

Froebel,  Julius,  195. 

Future  Life,  thoughts  on,  202,  340. 

Gamblino,  53,   54,   68,   69,   110,  140, 

284. 

reflections  on,  81. 

Garnett,  Mrs.  C,  360,  440. 
'Generalship  in  Literature,'  his,  436. 
Geneva,  in,  168. 
Geniality  and  good  humour,  204,  334, 

336,  367. 
'  Gens  comme  it  faut,'  preference  for, 

41,  60,  97. 
Geography,  33,  269. 
Georgia,  61. 

Gipsy  girl  singers,  52,  55,  59,  140,  178. 
God,  'There  is  no,' 24. 
thoughts  on,   73,    189,   190,   371, 

416-418. 
God  tees  the  Truth,  But  Waits,  342. 
Gogol,  428. 
Gortchak6f,  Prince  M.  D.,  90,  95,  100, 

104,  118. 
Gouneba  (stallion),  374. 
Government        approves         Tolstoy's 

schemes,  292,  360. 
Tolstoy's  dislike  of,  43,  229,  288, 

312,  3.57. 


460 


LEO  TOLSTOY 


Grammar  in  BchooU,  268. 

schools,  367. 

Greb^nsky  Cossacks,  78. 

Greek  and  Christian  ideals  contrasted, 

332,  333. 
Greek,  Tolstoy  learns,  331-333. 

Church.     See  Church. 

Grigorovitch,  D.  V.,  140,  141. 
Gymnasiums,  Russian,  367. 
Gymnastics,  173,  179,  205,  261,  308. 

Hadji  Mourat,  66. 
Handwerksverein,  der,  194. 
Hapgood,  Miss  I.,  301. 
Happiness,  plans  for  future,  74,  75,  76. 

thoughts  on,  79,  80,  83,  447. 

Hay  saved  by  personal  exertions,  299. 

Hegel,  criticism  of,  239. 

Heresy,  on,  423. 

Hermit,  visit  to  a,  365. 

Herodotus,  332,  337. 

Herzegovina,  373. 

Herzen,  Alexander,  143,  208,  209. 

Historian,  Tolstoy  as,  432. 

History,  criticism  of,  36,  268. 

how  to  teach,  268,  269. 

Home,  love  of,  323. 
Homer,  332. 
Homyakof,  A.  S.,  185. 
Honesty,  126,  127. 

of  peasants,  243,  244. 

Horse-breeding,  362,  373. 
Horse-race  at  Samara,  364. 
House  of  Commons,  211. 

sale  of.  111. 

'  Hundred  and  Ninety-three,  The,'  trial 

of  394  395  397. 
Hunting,' 66,  90,  183-185,  230,  302,  305, 

309.     See  also  Shooting. 

accident,  184,  185,  302,  303. 

Hussar i.  Two,  149,  157,  361. 
Hy6res,  at,  197,  203. 

Ideals  and  Realities  in  Russian  Litera- 
ture (Krop6tkin),  441. 

Iliad,  appreciation  of  the,  172. 

Incarcerated,  35. 

Inconsistency,  50. 

Infant  Schools  condemned,  235. 

Infected  Family,  The,  297. 

Introduction  to  a  Criticism  of  Dog- 
matic  Theolooy.     See  Confession. 

Irritability,  140,  141. 

JcNKER.  becomes  a,  65. 

'a  life  in  the  Caucasus,  a,  79,  80. 

Jury,  serves  on,  330. 

Kansas  Agricultural  Colony,  396. 
Kant,  416. 

Karalyk,  at,  285,  335-337. 
Katk6f,  M.  N.,  174,  284. 


Kazdn,  life  in,  32-35. 
University,  32,  33. 


Keller,  212. 

Kiesewetter  (Resurrection),  413. 

Kinglake,    historian   of    the    Crimean 

War,  133,  134. 
King  Lear,  Drouzhinin  and,  157. 
Kissingen,  at,  195. 
Knyaz,  meaning  of,  3. 
Kock,  Paul  de,  208. 
Kdlokol,  208. 
Koran,  338,  385. 

Kornilof,  Admiral,  105,  106,  118. 
Kotchdvka,  335. 
Koumifs  cure,  284,  306,  333. 
Koundk,  69. 
Kramsk6y  paints  portrait  of  Tolstoy, 

351  352. 
Krop6tkin',  P.,  397,  441-443. 
comments   on    Anna    Karinina, 

434,  436. 

Sevastopol,  133. 

Ideals  and  Realities  in  Russian 


Literature,  441. 
KryzhaJiovsky,  General,  127,  373. 

Land,  the,  188,  215. 
Languages,  129,  331. 

Oriental,  studies,  33. 

Lao-Tsze,  358. 

Lautiermethode,  353. 

Law,  studies,  135. 

Lelewel,  Polish  author,  211. 

Le6ntief,  Professor,  332. 

Levin  (Anna  Kardnina),  289,  444. 

Life  in  danger,  Tolstoy's,  86,  87,  110. 

Lisogoub,  D.,  397. 

Literature  as  an  occupation,  65,  82, 109, 

305. 

'A  General  in,'  436. 

its  importance  in  Russia,  190. 

Literacy,  Moscow  Society  of,  speech  to 

the,  353,  354. 
Lives  of  the  Saints,  the,  422. 
London,  in,  194,  208. 
Love  affairs,  26,  79,  149-155,  288-290. 
Lucerne,  171,  429. 
Lucerne,  in,  170,  171. 
Luther,  Martin,  196. 
Luxury,  dislike  of,  309,  317. 

Macaulat  criticised,  239. 

Magazine,    Tolstoy's.      See    Ydsnaya 

Polydna. 
Malahof,  capture  of  the,  119-121. 
Maridna,  79,  91. 
Marie  (Misha  or  Mary)  Tolstoy  (sister). 

See  Tolstoy. 

Tolstoy  (daughter).    See  Tolstoy. 

Volk6nsky,     Princess,     (mother). 

See  Tolstoy. 
Marriage,  290. 


INDEX 


461 


Marriage  question,  the,  441-443. 

Marryat's  novels,  281. 

Marseilles,  in,  20B. 

Marya  Gerasimovna,  9,  22. 

Masquerades,  309,  340. 

Master  aiid  Man,  91. 

Matriculates,  33. 

Maude,  A.,  letter  to,  301. 

Meeting  a  Moscow  Acquaintance,  157. 

Memoirs  of  a  Billiard  Marker,  91, 157. 

Menshikof,  Prince,  2,  3. 

Alexander,  105,  122-124. 

Metaphysics,  407. 
Michael,  Grand  Duke,  152. 
Middle-classes,  Tolstoy's  ignorance  of, 

436,  437. 
Middle  period  of  Tolstoy's  life.  298. 
Mihaylovsky,  N.  K.,  354,  355,  395. 
Military  newspaper  projected,  108,  109. 
Mill,  J.  S.,  396,  397. 
Mineral  waters,  a  course  of,  81,  313. 
Miracles,  417. 

Moabit  Prison,  visit  to,  194. 
Mohammedanism,  studies,  412. 
Molokans,  338,  423. 
Moscow  Gazette,  The,  350. 
Moscow  Conservatoire,  the,  175,  375. 

Fifty,  trial  of  the,  394. 

Society    of    Lovers    of    Kussian 

Literature,  185. 
Mother  Vdlga  (song),  276. 
Mouhamed  Shah,  350,  362, 
Mouravyof,  N.  N.,  432. 
Mowing,  367. 

Murder  of  Countess  Tolstoy,  256. 
Music,    Chevet's  method  of  teaching, 

167,  271. 

his  children  learn,  366. 

love  of,  51,  52,  175,  306,  320,  374- 

376. 

method  of  teaching,  271. 

Musical  notation,  271. 

Napoleon  I,  431. 

Ill,  95,  133. 

Nature,  delight  in,  86,  169,  170,  175, 

308. 
Nekrasof,  N.   A.,    83,   132,   138,  141, 

166,  172. 
comments    on   The    Wood-felling 

and  Sevastopol,  132,  133. 
Neues  Leben,  Ein  (Auerbach),  194. 
New  ABC  Book,  360. 
New  Religion,  would  found  a,  130. 
Newspaper,  projected  military,  108, 109. 
Newspapers,  dislike  of,  325,  379. 
Nicholas,  baby,  357. 
Nicholas  I,  94. 

Nicholas  Tolstoy.     See  Tolstoy. 
Nihilist,  The,  297. 
'Not  Born  to  be  Like  Everybody  Else,' 

81. 


Novel  writing,  65,  188. 
'Numidian  cavalry,'  the,  369. 

OBOLtNSKY,  Prince  D.  D.,  310,  323,  345, 

384. 
Ohrdk,  224,  225. 

Officers,  relations  with,  63,  82,  127. 
Ogary6f,  N.  P.,  209,  210. 
Old  style  calendar,  9. 
Old  Testament,  the,  263-267. 
Oltenitza,  in,  96. 
On  the  Eve  (Tourgenef),  188. 
Optin's  Hermitage,  30,  384. 
Orenbourg,  at,  362,  373. 
Oriental  languages,  studies,  33. 
Originality,  27. 
Osten-Saken,  Count,  5. 

Countess  A.  I.  (aunt),  29,  30. 

08tr6vsky,  A.  N.,  189. 
Ouroiisof,  Prince  L.  D.,  321,  331. 
Ouspensky,  N.  V.,  253. 

Palmkrston,  Lord,  211. 

Panaef,  V.  I.,  84,  138,  161. 

comments  on  Sevastopol  in  May, 

131. 
Paris,  in,  166,  167,  207,  208. 
Parliament,  211. 
Pascal,  B.,  Pens6es,  383. 
Pashenka,  29. 
Patriotism,  322. 

Peasants'  artistic  capacity,  275,  378. 
Pedagogic  tact,  279. 
Penmanship,  267,  268. 
Pensies,  by  Pascal,  383. 
Perovsky,  Sophie,  397. 
Petersburg,  in,  48,  50,  138,  139,  151, 

173,  386. 
Peter,  baby,  344,  352. 

the  Great,  2,  348. 

proposed  novel  of  period  of, 

344,  348. 
study    of    period    of,    344, 

348. 

Tolstoy.     See  Tolstoy. 

Petropavlof  Fortress,  visits,  386. 

Petrovsky  Fair,  336,  365. 

Physical   exercises,  expertness  in,  84, 

128,  173,  309,  367. 
Piano-playing,  52,  290,  320,  375. 
Pilgrims  and  saints,  9,  22,  29,  394. 
Plaksin,  Sergey,  204. 
Plays,  297,  327. 
Police  search  at  Yasnaya  Poly  ana,  285- 

288. 
Polikoushka,  211,  295,  296. 

Tourgenef's  comment  on,  297. 

Polish  insurrection  (1863),  296. 
Portrait  by  Kramskoy,  351,  352. 
Posthumous  publications,  66,  384. 
Potishkin,  131,  138,  161,  428. 
Prayer,  39,  64,  71,  91,  117,  370,  420. 


462 


LEO  TOLSTOY 


Prayer,  answer  to,  68,  72. 
Prince,  the  Russian  title,  3. 
Printing,  questions  the  utility  of,  226. 
Prisoner    in    the    Caucasus,    A,    86, 

341,  342. 

Tourgenef  8  comment  on,  347. 

Prisoners,  Turkish,  a  visit  to,  385. 
Prisons,  visits  to  :  the  Moabit,  194. 
Petropavlof   Fortress, 

386. 
Progress,    thoughts   on,    226,    239-245, 

283. 
Promotion,  slow,  85. 
Propaganda,  social  and  political,  397. 
Proposal    bv   initials,    to    Miss   S.    A. 

Behrs,  280. 

formal,  290. 

Proudhon,  visit  to,  211. 

Public  speeches  by  Tolstoy,  185,  311, 

353. 
Punishment  of  his  children,  318. 
Pyatigorsk,  in,  81,  88. 

QuESTioN-BoiEa,  194. 

Races  on  Samara  estate,  364. 

Raid,  The,  77,  85,  86. 

Ptailwavs,  aversion  to,  241-242,  334. 

Elaven  (horse),  27,  28. 

Read,  Is  it  worth  learning  to  ?  277. 

Readers,  Slavonic  and  Russian,  339, 
341,  359,  427. 

Reading  lessons,  262. 

practical  demonstration  of  teach- 
ing, 354. 

Reading  Library,  The,  148. 

Recollections  of  Count  Tolstoy  (Behrs), 
297,  367. 

Reforms  in  Russia,  144. 

want  of  sympathy  with,  144,  225, 

230. 

Religion,  on,  130,  338,  343. 

wishes  to  found  a,  130. 

Religious  beliefs,  38,  39,  162. 

Reports,  collates  military,  121. 

Review,  a  military,  84. 

Revolutionary  movement,  394-397. 

Riding  lesson,  first,  27. 

Right  and  Left  Hand  of  Count  Tolstoy, 
The,  395. 

Rousseau,  J.  J.,  46,  220. 

Rubinstein,  Nicholas,  175,  375,  384. 

Rudolph,  musician,  52,  107. 

Rules  of  conduct,  38,  39,  88. 

Russo-Turkish  NVars,  the,  91,  95,  373. 
See  also  Crimean  War. 

Sado,  69-73,  87. 

St.  George's  Cross,  76,  77. 

Sakya  Muni,  407. 

Sale  of  house.  111. 

Saltykof,  M.  E.,  (Stchedrin).  174,  354. 


Samara,  buys  estates  in,  300,  337,  359. 

famine  in,  350,  351. 

in,  284,  285,  334,  345,  350,  356, 

362,  388. 
Samarin,  P.  F.,  346,  356. 
Sand,  George,  hostility  to,  142,  320. 
School,    the  Yasno-Polyana,    52,    187, 

230,  246-254,  261,  278,  292,  340. 
external    disorder    in. 


248. 


Schools,  230-239,  283. 

boarding,  234. 

infant,  235. 

Tolstoy  inspects. 


a  fight  in,  249. 
punishment,  251,  252. 
theft,  a,  251,  252. 


194,  206.     See 


also  Education. 
Schopenhauer,  on,  315,  416. 

on  Life,  407,  411,  416. 

Schwarzwdlder    Dorfgeschichten, 


195, 


212. 

Sculptor,  Tolstoy  as,  310. 
Scythians,  337. 

Search  of  estate  by  police.  285-288. 
Self-depreciation,  162,  298. 
perfecting,  37,  38,  47,  48,  49,  52, 

88. 
Sensuality,  thoughts  on,  8L 
Sequel,  the,  447. 
Serfdom,  211,  224,  433. 
Serfs,     emancipation     of     the.       See 

Emancipation. 
relations  with  the,  21,  43,  47,  158, 

188,  227. 
Sergius  Tolstoy  (brother).  See  Tolstoy. 
Servants,  relations  with,  308,  318,  323. 
Sevastopol  112,  116,  130,  429. 

the  Censor  and,  131. 

comments  on,  by  Kropotkin,  133. 

Tourgenef,  133. 

English  edition  of,  135,  .301. 

Sevastopol  in  August,  119,  157. 
Sevastopol  in  December,  111,  131. 
Sevastopol  in  May,  130,  131. 
Sevastopol,  map  of,  112. 

Fourth  Bastion,  in,  110-117. 

Siege  of,  106-109,  112-117. 

situation  in,  105. 

Star  Fort,  the,  119. 

Tolstoy  reaches,  104. 

truce,  a,  134. 

Shamvl,  61,  66,  86. 

Shooting,  Tolstoy  goes,  84,  85,  90,  304- 

305,  336. 
Shyness,  129,  130. 
Si  jeunesse  savait,  179. 
Silistria,  recollections  of  siege,  97-104. 
Simplicity,  84. 
Sincerity,  disbelief  in  others',  143. 

his  own,  51,  448. 

Singer  at  Lucerne,  171. 


INDEX 


463 


Singing  lessons,  167,  270,  271. 

Slavophilism,  160,  161. 

Sleep,  respect  for,  325. 

Smoke,  comments  on,  313. 

Snow  Storm,  The,  91,  157. 

Socialism,  395-397. 

Social  tact,  129. 

Society,  organisation  of,  434. 

Socrates  on  Life,  407-409. 

Sok61niki,  at,  59. 

Soldier,  pleads  for  life  of,  311. 

popular  sympathy  for,  312. 

Soldiers'  Song,  122-126,  152. 

Solomon,  407,  409,  411. 

South  Kensington,  at,  194. 

Spiritualism,  82. 

Sportsman,   Tolstoy,   the,  66,    84,   85, 

90,  183-185,  230,  302,  304-305,  306- 

309,  336. 
Sports,  organises,  364. 
Spring,  influence  of,  175. 
Squire's  Morning,  A,  47,  158. 

Tourgenef's  comment  on,  158. 

Staff-oiBcers,  disapproval  of,  118. 

Stallion  (Goimeba),  374. 

Star  Fort,  the,  119. 

Starogladovsk,  in,  61,  64,  76,  78. 

Stary  Urt,  68. 

State  service,  43. 

Stchedrin,  174,  354. 

Stendhal,  93. 

Stol/pin,  108,  285. 

Story-teller,  an  itinerant,  384. 

Strahof,    N.   N.,   321,   326,   344,   383, 

384. 
Strength,    great    physical,    367,    369, 

403. 
Strenuousness,  323. 
Style,  Drouzhinin  criticises  Tolstoy's, 

159. 
Suicide,  thoughts  of,  402,  406,  410,  418. 

in  Anna  Karenina,  349. 

Syomka  and  Fedka,  literary  genius  of, 

272,  274. 
walk  with,  254-260. 

'  Take  care  of  that  young  man,'  111. 

Tartar  warfare,  77. 

Tatiana,  Aunt,  13,  17,  29,  31,  52,  59, 

154,  176-179,  295,  358,  359. 
letters  to,  59,  61,  65,  66,  73, 

76,  82,  84,  95,  96,  98,  109,  152,  153, 

168,  195,  198,  212,  285. 

peasants'  opinion  of,  358. 

Tchaykovsky,  N.,  396,  397. 
Tchernaya,  battle  of  the,  119. 
Tchitcherin,  B.  N.,  174. 
Teach,  What  must  I?  163,  235-238. 

How  must  I  ?  238-239,  263-271. 

Telegraph,  peasants  and  the,  176. 

Tolstoy's  criticism  of,  240-242. 

Temeshof,  Dounetchka,  20,  21. 


'Temple  of  Science,'  the,  36. 

Tennyson,  135. 

'  Tests '  himself,  151,  154. 

Theodore   Ivanitch    (Rossel),    12,    17, 

18. 
Thought  reading,  289,  290. 
Three  Deaths,  174,  186,  357. 
Three  Hermits,  The,  384. 
Titles  of  nobility,  Russian,  3. 
Todleben,  105,  118. 

Tolstoy,    Alexandra    A.    (aunt),    174, 
175,  196,  286,  351. 

letter  to,  175. 

Alexis,  4. 

Andrew  (son),  385. 

Dmitry  (cousin),  4. 

Demetrius  (Dmitry  or  Mitenka ; 


brother),  20,  28,  41,  42,  4.3,  148. 
relations  with  serfs,  43. 

—  Elias  (grandfather),  3,  4,  5. 

—  Ilya,  64. 
(so7i),  310. 


- —  Leo  (son),  317. 

—  Marie  (mother),  5,  9. 

—  Mary  (daughter),  331. 

(Marie  or  Masha ;  sister),  9, 

75,  82,  83,  84,  153,  173, 177,  285,  288, 
289,  304. 

—  Nicholas,  I  (father),  4,  5,  6,  21,  23. 
(Nikolenka;  brother),  18,  42, 

55,  60,  61,  191-193,  196-203. 

letter  to,  98. 

(son),  357,  360. 

—  Peter,  1,  2,  3. 
(son),  344,  352. 

—  S.  A.  (wife),    149,   289-296, 


302- 
303,  317,  340,  344,  348,  368,  385. 

letters  from,  to  S.  A.  Behrs, 

348,  356. 

SergiuB    (Sergey    or    Seryozha  ; 


brother),    19,    20,    28,    41,    42,    196, 

305. 
letters  to,  48,   89,  90,   106, 

110,  148,  150,  152,  198. 
L.  (son),  295,  303,  340,  366, 

389. 
Tatiana  L.  (daughter),  303,  320, 

340,  366. 
family  and  servants,  the,  21,  22, 

318. 


name,  the,  1,  9. 

spelling  of,  9. 

Tourgenef,  84,  133,  139-141,  149,  166, 

168,  189,  190,  193,  214-223,  303,  338, 

339,  357,  388,  389-393,  428. 

challenged  by  Tolstoy,  166,  217. 

challenges  Tolstoy,  219. 

comments  on  ABC  Book,  347. 

Anna  Kar&nina,  361. 

Cossacks,  The,  296,  393. 

Polikoushka,  297. 

Sevastopol,  133. 


464 


LEO  TOLSTOY 


Tourg^nef,     comments     on     Squire's 

Morning,  A,  158. 

War  and  Peace,  314. 

letters  to  Fet,  190,  220,  221,  296, 

338,  339,  357. 

in  verse,  187. 

Tolstoy,  155, 156, 217, 218, 388. 

on  Tolstoy,  338,  339,  .392,  393. 

reconciliation  with  Tolstoy,  388- 


391. 

-8  Faust,  156. 


the, 
347, 


Catherine 


's  On  the  Eve,  Tolstoy's  criticism 

of,  188. 

's  Smoke,  Tolstoy's  criticism  of,  313. 

Tolstoy's  quarrel  with,  216-223. 

translations  with  Mme.  Viardot. 

See  Viardot. 
'  Towards  the  People '  Movement, 

394. 
Training  College  for  Teachers,  a, 

355,  356. 
Translations,  301,  440. 
Traveller  in  the  Well,  The,  404. 
Tree-planting,  313. 
'  Trials  of  the  Pen,'  300,  303. 
Trollope,  A.,  320. 
Troubetskoy,        Princess 

{grandmother),  6. 
'Tsar-Liberator,'  the,  225. 
Tsar,  prayers  for  the,  420. 
Tschaikovsky,  P.  I.,  375-377. 

letter  to,  376. 

Turkey,  war  with,  379. 
Turkish  prisoners  in  T6ula,  385. 
Turks,  ferocity  of,  103. 
Twenty-three  Tales,  342,  384. 
Two  Hussars,  157,  361. 

Ufanizinq.     See  Farming. 
Universities,  dislike  of,  36,  235. 
University    degree,     failure    to    take, 
37,  51. 

' in  bark  shoes,'  a,  347,  355,  356. 

studies  at  Kazdn,  32-37. 

at  Petersburg,  48,  50. 

Unmethodical  habits,  51,  65,  85. 
Ushkof,  P.  I.  (aunt),  31,  369. 
V.  I.,  4,  31. 

Vanitt,  thoughts  on,  81. 
Varvara  Engelhardt,  6,  7. 
Viardot,  Madame,  .357,  361. 
Volga,  journey  down  the,  285,  334. 


Volga,  Mother  (song),  276. 
Volkonsky,   Prince    Nicholas    {grand- 
father), 6,  7. 

S.  G.,  386. 

Princess  {mother's  cousin),  174. 

Marie  {mother),  5. 

Voltaire,  influence  of,  47. 

V.  V.  A.,  love  affair  with,  150-155. 

Walking,  love  of,  204,  308,  309. 

tour,  168-170. 

War  and  Peace,  303,   304,  309,   314, 

317,  395,  430. 

characters  in,  304,  435,  436. 

preparations  for,  300. 

Tolstoy's  comment  on,  303. 

Botkin's  comment  on,  315. 

Tourgenef 's  comment  on,  314,  315. 

War,   active  service  in,   86,   99,   110, 

119. 

the  Church  and,  424. 

horror  of,  78,  137. 

thoughts  on,  133,  135,  136,  432. 

Wealth,  243,  244. 

Weimar,  in,  211,  212. 

What  is  Art  ?  260,  342,  378,  430. 

What  Men  Live  By,  384. 

Wife.     See  Tolstoy,  S.  A. 

Wine,  on,  137. 

'Wishes  to  be  great,' 183. 

Women,  relations  with,  40,  44,  52. 

Wood-Felling,  The,  77.  130,  131,  132. 

Wood,  Mrs.  Henry,  320. 

Works,  first  collected  edition  of,  300. 

list  of,  427. 

published  before  War  and  Peace, 

list  of,  301. 
Writer,  Tolstoy  the,  441,  445-447. 
Writers,  criticism,  of  the,  162-165. 
Writing  lessons,  268. 

Ydsnava  Polydna,  magazine,  231,  242, 

246,  291,  292. 
Yasnaya  Polyana,  house  and  estate, 

16,  111,  309. 
Yasno-Polyana    School,     Chap.     vm. 

See  also  School. 
Youth,  130,  156,  158,  160. 

criticised  by  Drouzhinin,  158,  159 

by  Tolstoy,  160. 

Zaharin,  Professor,  313. 
Zemstvo,  elected  to  the,  251. 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  Constabi.k,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


